The Arrival

by J W Brazier

  “I hoped that if I could someday prove their authenticity, they’d be the treasure of all treasures. Anyway, I’d forgotten all about them until I made an amazing discovery.”

  He paused, looking at the amulet on the table.

  “Good Lord, man,” Glenn said. “Don’t stop in the middle of this yarn. Keep going!”

  Joshua and Dean snickered.

  “Glenn, you’re worse than my children,” Joshua said.

  Ian grinned and continued. “I’d scheduled a thorough microscopic examination of the artifacts with a scientist friend of mine out of state. I put one small piece of the wood in my shirt pocket; the other large pieces I wrapped for the trip. My discovery came after I’d cut my hand that morning on a broken glass in the sink. The cut was deep and needed stitches. Before I left the house, an hour or two later, it felt better, no pain. I took the bandage off. No more cut, completely healed, and that’s when I had a skilled artist fashion what you see on the table. I’ve worn it ever since.”

  “Oh, no,” Glenn said. “You’re not going to sit there and expect us to believe that particular cross has kept you healthy and young? Now that would be a whopper of a tale. You had me hooked for a minute.”

  Ian wasn’t laughing.

  Glenn noticed. “You … You mean it has … I mean … Oh, doggone it, man! Go on, tell us more.”

  “Nassir told me that the iron and wood came from the cross of Christ’s crucifixion. One might believe in the power of objects. I don’t. Life is in the blood. The pieces I bought are permeated in human blood, which my scientist friend verified. They’re infused with Christ’s blood.”

  Everyone’s eyes widened like saucers.

  “I realize what I’ve said is hard to accept and you may think its superstitious nonsense, but look at me. Dean has told you the year that I was born, which in itself defies logic. Examine my skin, my hair. I look and feel like I’m in my thirties or forties. You heard Judas mention this amulet. He fears it because he’s defenseless against its powers.

  “Since I’ve worn this crucifix, aging has slowed to minimal. I haven’t been sick a day, not even a cold. My body repairs itself. I’m the living proof of its power, but you be the judge.”

  “Ian,” Dean said, “you said ‘pieces’ of iron and wood. What did you do with the rest … or is there anymore?”

  “Yes, there was extra, but in limited supply. I had the artist use what remained to make more amulets like mine. I assure you, I didn’t waste a single shaving.”

  Chapter 40

  Joshua’s living room had once again grown still, almost void of noise and movement. Ian’s strange and fantastic story was difficult to process. The lines between logic and fantasy had blurred. Each person’s thoughts wanted to accept what he’d said was true; their hearts hoped it was true. The evidence that validated such questionable reasoning stood in front of them by the fireplace. Ian was their living proof.

  Joshua’s stared at Ian. The implications were incalculable. His hopes soared like an eagle, but tenacious doubts lingered.

  Judas made a fearful mention of the power associated with Ian’s amulet. It’d be fantastic if it were true, Joshua mused.

  Four frightened children descended the stairs, seeking comfort and reassurance from Mom and Dad. Glenn nudged Ian, motioning toward Meagan, the youngest, trailing the others down the steps. She was struggling to lift her long pink nightgown from around her bare feet. Glenn watched as Joshua open his arms wide, beaming from ear to ear, waiting on his babies.

  Then Ian caught his breath at the same time Glenn’s eyes went wide.

  “Joshua!” Ian shouted.

  They lunged toward Joshua.

  “What is—” But Joshua cut his words short when he noticed something glowing on his chest. Two red dots of laser pointers illuminated his upper torso, searching for his heart.

  “Joshua, everyone, get down!” Glenn yelled. “Get down now!”

  Brenda and Joshua’s eyes went to their children. Three were still descending the stairs trying to reach their parents. Unwavering in their course of action, Glenn and Ian raced toward Joshua and the scared children.

  Within seconds, both men had covered the short distance from the fireplace to Joshua. Brenda followed, aiming for her children.

  When Dean saw the laser pointers on Joshua, he leaped toward Ann to protect her. Gus and Steve took hold of their wives and fell to floor, protecting them with their bodies.

  The events blurred for Brenda as she caught Clay, Courtney, and Danielle, but missed little Meagan. Glenn shoved Joshua toward Brenda with all his strength, but Meagan kept coming. Ian made his play toward her. The momentum of Glenn’s powerful shove proved too much for Joshua. He was unable to grab Meagan in his fall to the floor.

  The first shot blew out the large framed living room window. The bullet struck Ian in his chest near the heart. Blood splattered the walls and Meagan’s small face and nightgown, as if slung from a fresh dipped paintbrush. The shot blew a larger hole out his back before he could reach her. He staggered back, then struggled to move forward toward Meagan standing a few feet away.

  Weak from severe loss of blood, his strength drained, Ian fell to his knees, then onto the coffee table. Blood oozed between the fingers of his left hand that covered the bullet hole in his chest. Applied pressure would not hold at bay the pulsing blood flow with each beat of his heart.

  He looked down and grinned. The cross he’d never taken off lay on the table in front of him—perhaps his time had finally come. He coughed up blood and then slid to the floor onto his back, his blood pooling underneath him. Despite his semi-conscious state, Ian still tried to reach out for Meagan.

  Another blast found Glenn. The bullet tore through his upper right shoulder and out his back, spewing a trail of blood before it lodged into the wall. The sounds of falling shattered glass echoed in the room. A painting over the fireplace mantel exploded from another shot and fell to the floor. Random bullets struck the stone fireplace and ricocheted, sending granite chips clattering across the wood floor.

  Several shots came in quick succession, destroying what remained of the living room windows. More bullets meant for Joshua found Glenn’s body. He took another round to his lower left abdomen and another into his right thigh. His body convulsed with each strike.

  Meagan had stopped, frozen in place, a few feet from her new friends. Glenn and Ian’s blood splattered across her body in large globs that ran down her face, neck, and shoulders. Her matted blonde corn-silk hair had stained red, wet with blood; her once billowing pink nightgown looked dark crimson and clung to her small body. Her saucer green eyes reflected the terrible pain and agony in Ian’s face at her feet. She watched as Glenn spun halfway around from the impact of the last bullet.

  His blood splashed across her face, mingling with her tears. She’d witnessed bullets tear into her friends, and listened to their painful groans traumatizing her mind and body. Finally, she began screaming, and the other three children soon joined in.

  Glenn struggled to take one last step to reach Meagan, but staggered and fell to his knees. Blood gurgled in his mouth. He extended a bloody hand toward her in an attempt to reach out and protect the child one last time.

  Ian, meanwhile, had stopped moving. Glenn’s face was ashen white from shock and blood loss. With no strength left, his eyes rolled up and he collapsed to the floor onto his back next to Ian.

  Ann screamed and struggled to free herself from Dean’s firm grip. She wanted to help her father. She’d endured the revolting sight of high-powered bullets pierce his body. Dean wanted to help Glenn and Ian, but he couldn’t through the barrage of bullets. Instead, he’d held Ann to the floor, protecting her with his body; it was too late for Ian and Glenn.

  Brenda held three of her children close and shouted for Meagan to get on the floor. Meagan’s fear riveted her in place like rigid stone.

  “Stay down and don’t move!” Brenda said to her other three children. Cautious, she started to make
a play to retrieve Meagan, but Joshua stopped her.

  “Brenda, don’t move! Stay where you are. I’ll get her,” Joshua said.

  He scrambled on his belly through glass and the pooled blood spreading across the wood floor, soaking his clothing. He grabbed Meagan’s small arm and pulled her to the floor. She tumbled on top of her daddy as he rolled, shielding her body with his. Joshua looked right; Ian and Glenn lay a few feet away side by side.

  Meagan was crying calling out, “Daddy! Daddy!”

  Not far away, Courtney and Danielle were crying while bundled tight by their mother. Clay held his tears and snuggled close to mom and his sisters.

  Gus and Steve shielded their wives, waiting, hoping the gunfire would stop.

  In shock, whimpering, her body trembling, Meagan had wrapped her little arms tight around her daddy’s neck. Joshua applied kisses and caressed his daughter’s blood-smeared face.

  “You’re safe, baby! Don’t worry. Daddy’s got you now,” Joshua whispered.

  Meagan relaxed her arms and turned her head toward her new friends. Both lay motionless next to her daddy in an oozing pool of blood.

  *

  Jamal and Joseph were navigating the woodlands toward the Austin home when the echoing noise from the first volley of rifle shots erupted. They were too late. Jamal abandoned his plan of a quiet approach and broke into an all-out run, with Joseph close on his heels.

  Branches and thorns slapped and snagged at Jamal’s face and clothing. A five-hundred-dollar suit and slick-soled leather shoes weren’t the appropriate attire for sprinting through dense woodlands, but it didn’t matter to Jamal. Soon, winded, Jamal slowed to a walk as he came into a clearing of sparse undergrowth. The Austin home was within sight, about two hundred yards away. He crouched low and took cover behind a large red oak to assess the dangerous situation.

  Not far away, a man in camouflage lay on the ground, peering through a rifle scope. The man had set up his shooter’s nest at the north end of Joshua’s barn. With a clear view of the barn, Jamal considered his approach from the south end. He started to make his move.

  Ten feet behind Jamal, Joseph had listened to a faint noise. He pointed and whispered, “Agent Rashid, wait! Listen.”

  Jamal turned to the sound of trampled leaves. Someone struggled to move through the woods to their left.

  “Look over there, sir,” Joseph whispered, pointing to the trunk of a cedar tree thirty feet ahead.

  Jamal looked that way. A .30-06 rifle lay on the ground. Joseph eased alongside Jamal.

  Jamal nodded. “That’s a shooter’s nest and they’ve left the evidence. I’d bet Ben Archer’s fingerprints are all over that weapon.”

  “I’m familiar with these woods, sir. I can get ahead of him.”

  Jamal appreciated the deputy’s tenacity to get his man, and his knowledge of the woods would work to his advantage.

  “Joseph, be careful. We can’t wait for Sheriff Frazier or Chief Jefferson. We’re on our own, exposed, in the open, with no backup. Are you with me?”

  Joseph smiled. “Don’t you worry, Agent Rashid, I’m with you and so are my friends. We’ve got your back. My friends are dealing with the other shooters behind the house as we speak.”

  Jamal had forgotten: Joseph had mentioned the other deputies earlier.

  “Oh, yes, I’d forgot about those guys.”

  “Keep your head down, sir.”

  And with that, Joseph was off, maneuvering through the dense woods like an experienced tracker. Jamal was thankful other deputies were near and on the job. He took a deep breath and headed for the barn.

  *

  His rifle clamped to a tripod, his finger poised on the trigger, Junior Boggs kept the Austin living room framed in his scope, waiting for any movement.

  “Two down and the rest of you do-gooders are a hair’s breadth away from your glory land,” Junior whispered.

  “Leave no witnesses” were his orders. That suited him. Guilty of a single murder, then add a few more, it wouldn’t matter. Ben had used Junior’s sordid talents for years to take care of his shady jobs.

  Meanwhile, Jamal reached the south end of the barn without detection. He sneaked a quick look around the corner. His shooter was still on his belly. He seemed to be waiting for his targets to make a mistake and take another shot. He estimated the man to be less than 120 feet away.

  Jamal took a breath and exhaled, slow. He eased the safety off his .45 automatic. He was confident his target hadn’t noticed his approach. He hoped he could cover that amount of ground before the shooter spotted him, turned, and fired.

  “Allah, be with me,” he whispered.

  He started to leave his position, but hesitated. Why, he wasn’t sure. He still felt odd about it, but on impulse, he whispered another prayer: “Jesus, if you’re who the Christians declare you to be, I ask that you watch over me.”

  Jamal eased his head around the corner. The shooter hadn’t moved, but could fire another shot anytime. With fluid motion, Jamal stepped around the corner, mindful of each step, and advanced with his gun pointed at Junior Boggs. He’d covered thirty feet, then twenty feet, and stopped.

  “You, on the ground, don’t move! FBI. Spread your hands out in front of you!” Jamal shouted.

  Junior didn’t budge, but lay still, considering his plan of action. Snatch my pistol, roll over quick, and open fire. I’ve a 50/50 chance. So Junior ignored Jamal’s command and eased his hand for the .45 automatic next to his rifle.

  Jamal noticed. “Bad idea, Mister! You’re a dead man where you lay if you act on that thought. Extend your hands out, and in front of you.”

  Junior wasn’t a smart man, but he had quick reflexes. He acted on his bad idea. He grabbed for his gun and rolled over.

  The three quick explosions were deafening—two from Jamal and one from Junior. Knowing he hadn’t been hit, Jamal approached the man, kicked the .45 out of reach, grabbed Junior’s shoulder, and rolled him over onto his back.

  Jamal’s two expert shots had found their marks in Junior’s chest. Blood oozed from the corners of Junior’s mouth and ran down his neck. Junior blinked several times. His odd, silly grin showed a mouth of bad teeth coated in blood. Dazed, he stared up at the FBI agent, as if in disbelief of what had just happened. Jamal patted the dying man down, searching for any other weapons. He tossed the rifle and tripod out of reach.

  “What’s your name?”

  Junior coughed blood and grinned. “Junior Boggs.”

  “You lie still, Junior. There’s an ambulance on the way.”

  Junior looked up at Jamal, his eyes wide, staring. He raised his dirty hand, trying to point and speak. “Who … Who are those fellers with you? They’re … huge.” He coughed up more of his blood.

  Jamal looked behind him. No one there, but then, he figured Junior looked into a realm that just the souls of the dying beheld.

  “Where are the other shooters?” Jamal asked.

  Junior stared up at Jamal and smiled. He raised his hand and pointed in the direction of the hay bales, stacked fifty yards from the house along the pastures fence line.

  “One’s over yonder and … three others … in the woods behind the house.” Junior coughed several times. Blood spattered out his mouth, his breathing labored and shallow. Junior was losing blood fast.

  Jamal stayed with him. “How many are with you, Junior?”

  “Six of us … all told.”

  “Was Ben Archer one of the shooters?”

  Junior grinned and answered in a hoarse whisper. “He’s … the boss. Paid me … five hundred.”

  Junior coughed, spitting up more blood. Jamal watched, confused by the sudden and dramatic change in Junior’s expression. Junior tried to raise his head. His eyes opened wide; his dark brown pupils dilated. Every feature of the man’s face had engraved a look of stark terror.

  “They’re not the same … as the other fellers! They’re … They’re coming for me! Oh, God! No! Help me!”

  Jamal s
tood and looked around, wondering who or what was out there.

  Junior spit up blood, his face contorted by pain. He seemed to be trying to fend off some unseen terror with what strength remained in him. His body arched up off the ground at the waist, quivered, and then fell to the ground, lifeless. Junior’s death struggle touched Jamal as he looked down and watched the odd death scene. The last words Junior Boggs uttered in this world were muffled screams and cursing—the terrified countenance of torment frozen on his face for eternity.

  *

  “Magee, it’s okay. Shush, it’s okay, baby. The bad men are gone.” Joshua’s heart broke. His innocent little Meagan had experienced violence no one should have to suffer. She looked beyond her father in shock, staring into space, sniffling, shaking uncontrollably. Her little face, ashen white, was spattered in dried blood.

  Joshua held her close, comforting his child, applying gentle kisses to her blood-smeared forehead. He looked up and surveyed the carnage. Brenda protected the other children. Ian hadn’t moved and showed no signs of life. Glenn lay next to Ian on his back. Joshua looked again. Glenn’s chest moved.

  “Oh, thank God, he’s breathing,” he whispered.

  Joshua looked for the others. Dean held Ann close near the couch. Gus, Pearlette, Pastor Steve, and Sherry hugged the floor by the fireplace. After the first volley of shots, the time intervals between three additional shots were distinct and distant. The shots came from the barn—handguns, Joshua figured. He wondered if help had arrived, but he couldn’t be sure. He felt torn over what to do next. One thing he was sure, he was going to do something instead of waiting for someone to shoot again.

  “Brenda, you’ve got to take Magee. I have to check on Glenn.”

  Brenda tried to hold back tears, but understood. “Joshua, please, stay down! Those killers are still out there.”

  “Baby, I’ll be okay. Calm down. Are you and the kids okay?”

  “Yes, I think so.”

  “Children, talk to me,” Joshua said.