The Fourth Trumpet

by Theresa Jenner Garrido

  The old man and the two young women sat down, each with a blanket and a brooding expression. The fire needed more logs, but Andrea had no strength or will to make the effort. Carrie was staring at the wall, and Andrea feared she was slipping back into her catatonic state. The minister was studying his hands. Andrea studied the bowed head, wondering what the man really believed.

  When he looked up, he smiled at Andrea. “I believe I will stretch out on this wonderful couch. Do you mind?”

  Andrea shook her head. “No, of course not. You must be exhausted. Do you want anything—a drink or something?”

  “No, thank you, my dear. I will rest my eyes for half an hour and then, maybe, we can have a little something to eat.”

  “Sure.”

  Eleazar didn’t say another word. He brought his legs up and stretched out. Leaning back on one of the throw pillows, he closed his eyes. His lips were moving, but no words were audible. Andrea guessed he was praying again. Uncomfortable with the minister and the catatonic woman huddled in her mound of blankets, Andrea crawled to her sleeping bag and got inside—shoes and all. She scrunched way down in its flannel folds, zipped it up to her neck, and closed her eyes. Maybe if she went to sleep, when she woke up, everything would be all right. Maybe.

  * * * *

  Andrea held her breath, waiting for the brute to trample her. But when its thunderous footfalls stopped suddenly, and the earth ceased to tremble, she opened her eyes. The thing was not standing over her. Instead, she looked up through a canopy of interlacing oak branches at a blue sky, dotted with puffy, white clouds. Hope surging, she rolled over, got to her hands and knees and stood.

  And there it was.

  The beast.

  The monster.

  For some reason, it had stopped about three yards away. Nostrils flaring, ears back, pawing the dirt with one hoof, it stared at her with dark, soulless eyes.

  Fear paralyzed Andrea. She didn’t know what to do. Turn and walk slowly away? Face it and wave her arms wildly in an attempt to startle it into running in the opposite direction? She hadn’t a clue how to handle this situation. Never dreamed she’d ever be in a dilemma like this. Had to be a bad dream.

  No, a nightmare.

  “Berry,” she whispered. “Berry, please…”

  Then the beast lowered its huge, shaggy head.

  It was coming for her, and no flailing of arms on her part was going to thwart it.

  * * * *

  “Andrea. Andrea, my dear, wake up.”

  Andrea rolled onto her back and opened her eyes. A dark-skinned man was leaning over her—one hand brushing the hair away from her perspiring face. She screamed.

  “No, child. You are all right. You are safe. It is I, Eleazar. You remember me—the old pastor who came to your doorstep for help. Yes?”

  Andrea blinked several times and sat up. It all came back to her. She wasn’t in the woods being attacked by It. She was lying in her own living room, in the dark, with people she hadn’t known thirty-six hours ago. But she was safe.

  “I’m-I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I was having a nightmare.”

  “Yes, and by the sounds of it, a humdinger,” the man chuckled quietly. “You must not worry, Andrea. We are in God’s hands.”

  Andrea looked away in embarrassment. “Right.”

  The old man took her chin in one hand and gently forced her to look at him. “Everything will be all right. You just have faith.”

  “I don’t mean to be rude, Eleazar. You’re a nice man, but…”

  “But you find this old man a bit trying.”

  Andrea shrugged and almost kept herself from sneering. Almost. “Well, let’s just put it this way, I don’t mind being stuck in a never-ending night, without my family, with neighbors lying dead down the road, a young man missing—no, make that two young men missing, not to mention an innocent dog—and a girl who could give birth at any moment and, oh, never mind! What do I know?”

  The older man nodded. “Yes, I can see how it may appear. That the very fabric of time and space has been ripped in two. However, sometimes what we mistake for utter evil may be a blessing in disguise.”

  “Sure. A blessing took my mother away from me when I was practically a baby. Another blessing took my Dad when I was fourteen. And now this? This end-of-the-world blessing? Give me a break.”

  Andrea’s hands fumbled with the zipper—desperate to get out of the sleeping bag. The zipper stuck, and she yanked on it with savage frustration. Overwhelmed, she gave up and burst into tears. Wracking sobs tore at her insides. She tried to stifle them, but couldn’t. She and Carrie could share a room in the local asylum.

  Eleazar wrapped his thin arms around her and held her without saying a word. He let her cry out years of bottled-up anger and disappointment and despair. When she’d cried all the tears left in her, Andrea settled for an occasional hiccup. Her face was still pressed against the old pastor’s shirt; she couldn’t look up—didn’t want to meet anyone’s eyes. She’d never been so embarrassed. She’d acted like a baby—or worse, a neurotic woman like Carrie. The thought-comparison made her cringe in mortification.

  Satisfied that she’d settled down, Eleazar released her from his comforting embrace. He held her out at arm’s length and studied her flushed face and swollen eyes with sympathy. “There, that was good. You got it all out. Now you can resume your journey with a lighter step.”

  “M-my journey? What journey? I’m not on any freakin’ journey.”

  “Life, dear child, life. Life is nothing but a journey.”

  “Oh, yeah. Great.”

  “It is great. Life is the most exciting journey anyone could ever have.”

  “Yeah, sure. One barbaric, cruel, incredibly long journey. Lovely. This so-called journey of yours is the most frightening thing I could’ve imagined. How long will this journey last? Will we be forced to endure this darkness and evil forever? How will we survive? Like primitive cavemen?”

  Eleazar shook his head. “No, not forever like you think. You think in earthly terms.”

  “Of course I do! Eleazar, I am living on Earth so how can I not think in earthly terms? I count the stupid seconds all day long, listening to that stupid grandfather clock in the foyer! Can’t you hear it? Tick-tock, tick-tock—all day and all night long.”

  “I am rather fond of that old clock.”

  “Well, I hate it.”

  “Andrea, take a deep breath and listen to what I am saying. Compare all this to removing a Band-Aid on your arm. You are hesitant to take it off because you know it will pull on the short hairs of your arm and hurt. But you do it. Why? Because you also reason that it will only take a second and then the discomfort is over. Right?”

  Andrea stared at the old man without hiding her condescension. The pastor chuckled and made a face. “I know that was hardly a good analogy, but it still gives you the idea of what I am trying to say. Think of a mother about to deliver her baby. She knows the pain will be intense, excruciating even, but does she refuse to have the baby? No. She reasons that the few hours of pain will be worth it when she holds that tiny miracle in her arms for the first time. Yes?”

  “I guess.”

  “I was going to paint the baby’s room green,” Carrie’s small voice interrupted their diatribe.

  Both Andrea and Eleazar looked at her in consternation. The woman, still lost within the voluminous folds of her blanket, was a constant source of amazement to Andrea, and by his expression, to Eleazar, too. His look was pensive for a few seconds, then he spoke. “A lovely, soothing color,” he said gently. “Do you know the baby’s gender, my dear?”

  Carrie crawled out from under her self-made cocoon. Rising to her feet, she tossed the blanket unceremoniously to the floor. “No, but I almost found out. When I had the last ultrasound. But then, I thought, no, let it be a surprise. I wanted to be surprised and Rob did, too. He’s so old-fashioned.”

  “Well, green is a perfect color. Good for a boy or a girl,” Andrea offered, fe
eling a bit lame.

  “At first. At first, when I found out I was pregnant, I didn’t want the baby. Was tempted to-to, you know. But now, I love my baby. I want my baby to have all the love and security I can give.” She looked through them. “But fate is punishing me, mocking me. Isn’t it? I can’t even imagine bringing my baby into a world like this.”

  The preacher had to comfort yet another distraught young woman. He pushed himself up from where he’d been kneeling beside Andrea and walked over to Carrie. Carrie’s cheeks were flushed, and she hugged herself as though to keep from falling into a million pieces.

  Eleazar put his arms around the pregnant woman. At first, she shied away, but after his repeated attempts, finally gave in. Resting her head against his already damp shoulder, Carrie gave way to her grief. Andrea remained half-out of her sleeping bag, watching, lost in thought.

  When the last tear dripped down her too-pink face, Eleazar guided Carrie back to her chair and pushed her down. “I will go make us some soup. How does that sound?” He looked down at Andrea. “Would you like some soup?”

  “Yeah, that sounds good. You don’t have to make it, though. I know my way around the kitchen, even in the dark. You relax and I’ll make the soup. I’ll be back in a jiffy. And besides,” she gave a half-chuckle, “you need to find a dry shirt.”

  Eleazar complied and searched through the heap of clothing Keith had brought from upstairs. From the kitchen, Andrea could hear him talking with Carrie. She apparently was listening because there were no more outbursts or rebuttals. Andrea forced herself to concentrate on getting the can open. She didn’t want to think about life or babies or anything but soup.

  ELEVEN

  The hot soup tasted like ambrosia to Andrea as she and her guests sat around the coffee table in the dark living room, wrapped in their own thoughts. Because it was the only warm room in the house, they did everything in that room—eat, sleep, talk. Visits to the bathroom were rushed affairs, and they took turns heating up small amounts of water for hurried spit-baths. Andrea never realized how luxurious a shower was until she had to do without. Just being able to shampoo her hair and do her nails would be an exciting treat. How she longed for yesterday—those happy, carefree days with her family. She almost chuckled aloud. Carefree? All the arguments and defiance? She’d give anything to tell her aunt and uncle that she’d be glad to go to college. She’d do anything they asked. She’d had it so easy and never gave it a thought. She realized now how spoiled she’d been.

  They decided to retire after finishing the humble meal. No one was in the mood to play a game. Carrie and Andrea were tired of talking. Eleazar agreed. They needed a good sleep to get back their “momentum,” he said. Andrea carried the bowls into the kitchen and rinsed them. Then she shuffled to the back door and peered out the small window at the impenetrable gloom. On impulse, she opened the door and stuck her head out.

  She listened.

  No sound teased her ears, no wind, no animal noises. Tears welled up. She wanted to believe that everything would be all right. She did. But how could she, when so much suffering was cascading down upon them like a tidal wave? A deep pain burned inside her that nothing seemed able to soothe. She felt incredibly sorry for herself, her lost family, her dead neighbors, for the pregnant girl sitting in the living room, for the missing husband and Keith and Thor—everybody. Too much!

  Andrea closed the door, locked it, and returned to the living room. After a quick trip to the bathroom, she crawled inside her sleeping bag and pulled the cover up over her head. Eleazar had built up the fire, with a brief comment about the diminishing stack of wood. Andrea promised to get more wood later. She’d almost said “in the morning” but then thought how ridiculous that sounded. There was no morning. Only infinite night. Forever-and-ever darkness.

  Carrie was already in her bag, eyes closed. Eleazar grabbed two blankets and lay on the couch. The clock ticked. Once in a while an ember settled with a light, crackling thunk. Other than that, their breathing and an occasional cough were the only sounds in the room. They slept.

  Something awakened Andrea. She stirred within the confines of the warm sleeping bag. Lying still, she listened, waiting for the sound to come again. It didn’t, so she unzipped her bag, lifted up her head and leaned on one elbow. A dark mound three feet away was Carrie, obviously in a deep sleep. She could make out the form of Eleazar on the couch. He, too, was fast asleep. No one moved or shifted or sighed. The only sound was the ticking of Great Uncle Fred.

  And then she heard it.

  Nebulous, innocuous, and at first she hadn’t any idea where it was coming from. Tensing, she sat up, straining to hear. Where? The kitchen? Upstairs? Or, God forbid—the basement?

  Outside. Definitely coming from outside—in the front yard. Andrea slipped out of the sleeping bag and stood up. Arms groping, feet shuffling, she made her way across the room, to the window. She pulled back the drape, and looked out, held her breath. She couldn’t see a thing.

  About to turn, she heard the noise again. Only this time, it seemed to be coming from the rear of the house. Without hesitating another second, she scuffled into the kitchen and to the back door. She fumbled with the locks, flung the door wide open, then stepped out onto the porch with her heart almost in her mouth. The darkness swirled around her like a living entity. It tickled her skin and ruffled her hair.

  It beckoned her.

  There was no doubt about it. The darkness wanted her to follow, begged, enticed. Where it wanted her to go, she hadn’t a clue. It just wanted her. She knew this even though she’d be hard put to explain it.

  Throwing discretion to the winds, she walked down the steps and stood on the flagstone path, eyes darting in all directions. She didn’t know what she hoped to see —wasn’t even consciously thinking about it. All she knew was she needed to find something, somewhere out there.

  Overcome with an over-powering urge to call Keith’s name, Andrea threw away her last bit of common sense and yelled. “Keith! Keith! Are you out there? Keith? Can you hear me?”

  There it was—the noise that’d first gotten her attention. A voice? Yes! Someone was calling. Arching up on tiptoes, Andrea strained to hear the voice once again so she could sense its direction. She called again. “Keith? Keith, is that you?”

  “Andrea. Help us, Andrea. Andrea…” The voice was impossibly faint, difficult to make out.

  “Who’s calling? Where are you?”

  “Help us. Please. We are by the…”

  “What? By the what? I can’t hear you! Where are you?”

  “Andre hurry. Help us. Hurry. The tree. The tree. Lightning…”

  Tree? Lightning? What did it mean? Andrea dragged a hand through her hair in frustration. Then she remembered the tree deep in the woods that’d been struck by lightning four years ago. A jagged scar ran the length of its thick trunk, but it still stood, daring Mother Nature to strike another blow.

  Andrea was in a frenzy of indecision. Should she venture out into the darkness, looking for the voice, or should she lock herself behind the kitchen door and return to her bed? What had Eleazar said? “What could a slip of a girl do when a grown man couldn’t?” or something to that effect.

  Making up her mind, Andrea stumbled back up the porch steps and into the house. She found a flashlight on the counter beside the sink, flicked it on, and dashed back outside. Mumbling a short, but fervent prayer, she embraced the darkness.

  TWELVE

  The flashlight didn’t have near enough light to define the way. Dodging branches and tripping over fallen logs exhausted her before she’d gone a few yards beyond the creek. It amazed her how easily she’d run through these woods in the daylight, and how virtually impossible it was to even stumble through them in this cloying darkness.

  At first, Andrea played the light over the bushes, undergrowth, and trees to the right and left, but the leaping shadows were so unnerving she stopped doing it. She didn’t want to think about the things being out there and adopted t
he old adage, “what you can’t see won’t hurt you.”

  She knew these woods well. Or, at least, she thought she knew them well. After several minutes tripping over debris, getting snagged by branches and twigs and falling hard on her knees twice, she wasn’t sure any more. The fierce determination to save whoever was out there faded, and in its place, a gnawing fear took hold. It occurred to her that she’d been very foolish. Eleazar was right. What did she think she could do that Keith couldn’t?

  Andrea leaned against a tall sweetgum to get her breath and gather unraveling wits. Forcing herself to take slow, deep breaths, she went over her choices. She could continue on and perhaps get lost—or worse. Or, she could turn around and go back to the house, where she had company, warmth, and relative safety.

  A human cry startled her, and she dropped to a crouch. With one arm wrapped around the base of the tree, she closed her eyes and clamped down on quivering lips to stifle a rising cry. Her stomach roiled and bile rose to her throat. She was going to throw up. A snapping sound behind and to the left jerked her head up and opened her eyes. Something was close by. Something knew she was out in the woods. Alone.

  Okay, God, I know I haven’t been your favorite person these last few years and I’ve been mad at You, but, please! Help me. Protect me from whatever it is that has me cornered. Help the person I heard yelling. If it’s Keith, bring him safely back to us. Uh, Amen.

  A shout to her right caused her to flinch again. The creeping sounds to the left stopped as the shouts bludgeoned the night. It was a man’s voice. And it sounded like Keith’s. Andrea’s heart replaced the bile in her throat. Springing up, she tensed, waiting for the thing on her left to attack. It didn’t.