The Fourth Trumpet

by Theresa Jenner Garrido

  “Honey, I am being reasonable. We need the supplies. I have to try.”

  “No! Make Richard go. He hasn’t done anything! He’s expendable. It won’t matter if something gets him.”

  “Shhh, Andrea. Calm down. You’re just working yourself up into a frenzy, and it’s not good for you. Carrie is bad enough. I need you to stay sensible.”

  “But—”

  “Shhh. I understand where you’re coming from. Really. I do. And I’m flattered you care that much about me.”

  “Keith. I love you.”

  “I know. And I love you, too. That’s why I have to do this. No point sitting around, debating the pros and cons. I have no choice. We need to survive and we need supplies to do so. Right?”

  Andrea stared at him with eyes brimming with tears. She didn’t speak, only nodded. Her heart was lodged somewhere in her throat.

  Keith hugged her tightly then stood. “Okay. I’ll get some stuff together then go. Come inside, honey.”

  Andrea made no protest when he pulled her up and led her into the house. They found the others in the living room, huddled around the fire. Thor was fast asleep on the rug.

  “Hey, guys. I’m going to make a foraging trip, see if I can find some supplies at one of the farm houses down the road.”

  Carrie, eyes wide with fright, burrowed deeper into the folds of her blanket and moaned. Richard ducked his head between his legs. Eleazar rose from his recliner. “I will go with you, son.”

  “No. I’d rather you stayed here and, well, took care of things,” Keith said, eyes locked on the old preacher’s.

  Eleazar nodded and eased back into the chair. “Yes. You are right. An old man would be a hindrance instead of a help.”

  Andrea glanced at Richard, but the punk didn’t raise his head or speak. She felt like marching over to his corner, dragging him up off of the floor and throttling him. She was angry enough to scream but managed to keep her ire in check. It wasn’t easy.

  “Okay. I’m taking this pack and a flashlight. Keep a light in the window so I can find my way back.” Keith laughed but it sounded harsh. Andrea winced. “Don’t wait up for me,” he added.

  Andrea threw herself into his arms and held him tightly. “Please. Please come back. Don’t get killed. Please, don’t get killed.”

  Keith kissed her, nodded to Eleazar, then opened the front door. “Okay. Be good, you guys. Take care of my girl, Eleazar.” He looked at Andrea and smiled. “I’ll be back before you know it. With candles. And batteries. I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  Two minutes later, he dove into the dark pool that threatened to drown them and disappeared.

  Andrea collapsed on the porch, buried her face in her hands and sobbed.

  TWENTY-ONE

  After she’d had her cry on the front porch, Andrea joined the others by the fire. Eleazar was reading aloud from his tattered old Bible, and she settled down in one of the recliners to listen. The old man’s smooth-as-honey voice droned on, making her eyelids heavy. Until one passage—somewhere in the Book of Revelation—snagged her attention and wrapped her in a web of morbid contemplation.

  “‘And the fourth angel sounded the trumpet, and the third part of the sun was smitten, and the third of the moon, and the third part of the stars, that the third part of them might be darkened, and the day for the third part of it might not shine, and the night likewise.’”

  As the old pastor’s melodious voice read the words, a shudder passed through Andrea and she grimaced. She’d known it all along, but this cinched the deal. The world, as she’d known it, had come to an end. Her life was over at the tender age of eighteen. The ridiculous arguments she’d had with her aunt and uncle about college, getting a job, buying a car were a joke. They’d wasted so much time; wasted so much energy. What fools they’d been.

  Over nothing.

  When Thor begged to be let out, Andrea jumped at the welcome diversion. She’d had enough of Eleazar’s reading. She followed the dog outside and waited for him on the back porch. The only worry was that he’d get wind of the poor priest’s dead body and head over there. But the dog only did his business and flew back to her with a wet nose, a happy bark, and a wagging tail.

  Eleazar read for another half-hour then declared it time for bed. No one complained. Even the sullen punk in the corner looked ready to retire. They took turns in the bathroom then hit the sack. Andrea dove into her sleeping bag, more than ready for this day to come to an end.

  She wanted tomorrow to be yesterday.

  She wanted Keith home, safe and sound.

  An eternity later, she was still wide-awake. Random fears and thoughts still did a crazy break-dance in her mind. No way she could sleep. And, as if that wasn’t bad enough, Great Uncle Fred ticked out the seconds without faltering.

  Andrea lay in her sleeping bag with clenched hands and teeth, trying desperately to keep from screaming. She wanted the clock to stop, had been amazed how long it had run without her rewinding its mechanism. Until she happened to see old Eleazar doing just that. She’d bitten her tongue before ordering him to stop. He seemed to like the monstrosity, even ran a hand lovingly down the old clock’s wooden frame every once in a while. The ticking shouldn’t be that big a deal, but it was driving her crazy. She shifted in the confining bag and turned her thoughts to Keith. That wasn’t any better. He’d been gone hours, too long to be out there, alone.

  She was reciting the alphabet backwards when a moan had her raising her head. The dark mounds around her remained motionless, but someone had made the sound. Andrea listened and strained to pierce the darkness that was almost a living entity taking up space in their living room. Then another soft moan let her know it was Carrie.

  “Carrie,” Andrea whispered. “Are you okay?”

  “N-no.” The voice wobbled.

  “What’s the matter? Anything I can do?”

  Another moan. “I don’t think so.”

  “What’s the problem?”

  “I don’t know.” The reply was fretful.

  Andrea quickly unzipped her sleeping bag. “Well, what is it? Are you feeling sick? Nauseous?”

  “N-no. Not sick. Just in pain. I-I think, maybe, I’m having contractions.”

  An invisible nail scraped down an invisible chalkboard. Andrea winced. Contractions? Oh, God. No. Not now.

  “Okay. Okay. So, do you want to sit up? On the recliner, maybe?”

  “I don’t know. I guess.” Carrie’s voice was now an official whine.

  “Have you, uh, had any classes? You know, on childbirth? Breathing technique. Stuff like that?”

  “Y-yes. Rob and I both went to a class. Supposed to go to two more, but…”

  “Okay. Never mind. At least that’s a start,” Andrea murmured, trying to sound in control.

  A woolly head appeared from the folds of a sleeping bag and Eleazar spoke. “What is the matter? Is someone ill?”

  “It’s Carrie. She’s in labor,” Andrea said, almost throwing her arms around the old man’s neck as relief flooded over her. At least she wouldn’t have to deal with this new emergency alone. The minister would help. He seemed to be a master of a lot of trades. Maybe he knew exactly what to do in a situation like this.

  Stranger things had already happened.

  “Oh, dear me,” the old reverend muttered as he struggled to get free of the confining sleeping bag. “Oh, my, my, my.”

  “Should I boil some water? They’re always doing it in the movies.”

  Eleazar shook his head then nodded. “No-yes. Yes, do that. It certainly would not be amiss.”

  “And sheets. We’ll probably need clean sheets, right?”

  “Oh, yes, yes, that will be most welcome.” The old man’s curly head bobbed up and down.

  “Do you know what to do, Eleazar? I mean, have you ever been present when a baby was born?”

  “Oh, yes, yes. I witnessed our only child’s debut into this world, but…”

  “But?”
<
br />   “That was over fifty years ago, my dear. My wife passed twenty-two years ago. Our son died in the war.”

  “Oh. Sorry.”

  A loud wail from Carrie startled them into action. Andrea quickly turned to assist the young woman into a recliner and raise her feet onto the footrest. “Okay. Okay. You keep taking deep breaths or whatever they told you to do. I’ll, uh, boil some water.” She glanced at Eleazar for confirmation. The old man nodded. “Okay. Okay. I’ll be right back.”

  Andrea literally stumbled into the kitchen, almost catapulting over a chair. She quickly lit the stove, filled three pans with water, then turned in a full circle, wondering what to do next. Sheets. With a groan, she made her way upstairs to the linen closet beside her uncle and aunt’s room. Gathering an armful of sheets, she hurried down to the first floor, then remembered the sack of linens she and Keith had brought back from the Martins’. Oh, well.

  “Here are the sheets. Where should I put them?” She was out of breath and that neon sign, advertising her ineptness, irked.

  Carrie let out a shrill cry before Eleazar could reply. Andrea yelped then winced. Richard, who’d finally crawled out of his sleeping bag, laughed. Andrea whirled on him and let loose her pent-up frustration.

  “Don’t just sit there, you worthless hunk of nothing! Do something constructive! Fill the buckets! I had to use most of the water already, and we’ve only just begun!”

  The kid scowled. “Stop freakin’! What th’ hell do I know about this mess? I ain’t never delivered no baby! Jeez!”

  “Just get up off your sorry ass and help!”

  “What? What can I do?”

  “I told you what to do, you idiot!”

  “Andrea,” Eleazar admonished in his quiet voice.

  Andrea turned on her heel and faced the minister, who was bending over a very distraught Carrie. “What?” Her voice rose a decibel.

  “Child, lower your voice. I need you to remain calm.”

  Feeling like a deflating balloon, Andrea relaxed her shoulders and sighed. “Sorry. The creep just makes me so mad.”

  “Yeah, well, you make—” Richard started to say but stopped when the old minister raised a hand.

  “Son, do as Andrea asked. Fetch some water. We will need it. If not for this dear momma, then for us. Will you do that?”

  Richard rolled his eyes but clambered to his feet. “Sure. Why the hell not? So what if them monsters out there get me. No great loss.”

  Andrea wanted to slap him and remind him that Keith was somewhere out there. Alone. Foraging, while he sat huddled in a corner, pouting. Keith was risking his life so they could have much-needed supplies, and the punk was doing absolutely nothing constructive. But she stuffed her hands in her pockets and bit her tongue. Eleazar had asked her to stay calm, so she’d stay calm. For his sake.

  Carrie shrieked, doubled over, then began panting. Eleazar raised his eyebrows and looked at Andrea. She swallowed what she thought might be her heart lodged in her throat and closed her eyes. The ordeal had begun. There was no turning back now. Carrie was going to have her baby, and there was nothing anyone could do about it.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Four hours and seventeen minutes later, it was all over.

  Eleazar and Andrea managed to pull a very tiny, very distressed baby girl into this world and get her to start breathing on her own. To Andrea’s untrained eyes, the baby seemed incredibly small—hardly big enough to survive. Carrie, after her last tremendous push, sank back against the cushions as though giving up. She didn’t even open her eyes when Andrea offered the tiny thing to her.

  “Carrie. Look at her,” Andrea said quietly. “She’s beautiful.”

  The young woman didn’t respond, only lay against the pillow with eyes closed. Andrea couldn’t tell if she slept or was just too exhausted to move. Either way, the new mother was unable to care for her baby. Or unwilling.

  Andrea looked at Eleazar. “Why won’t she hold her baby? Is she sick? Cold as ice?”

  The old man shook his head. “I fear she is too upset. She has been under so much stress, the dear child.”

  Andrea nodded. “Yes, she’s been high-strung from the beginning. Keith said he had a hard time getting her here. Said she cried the whole time. She was really frightened when she couldn’t find her husband, and then all of this.”

  “Such a series of unfortunate events. The poor child has been through tremendous stress, been frightened beyond reason. The stress and worry of losing her young husband at this most crucial time in her life has pushed her to the limit of her endurance, I am afraid. And then the darkness and frightening creatures—”

  “Yes. I can’t wrap my mind around how it must feel to have delivered your first-born at a time like this.”

  Eleazar patted her shoulder. “Nor can I, my dear, nor can I.”

  Andrea looked at the tiny thing in her arms and sighed. “I guess she’ll be okay for a while. But surely she’ll need to nurse soon.”

  “I am sure Carrie will rise to the occasion.”

  “Let’s hope so.” Andrea laid the baby in a nest of pillows they’d brought from upstairs. “I wish we could bring a bed down here. Or get her up to one of the bedrooms. I think she’d be way more comfortable in a real bed.”

  “She is fine for now. We are all exhausted. Let us rest for half an hour then see what needs to be done.”

  “Okay. You’re right. I’m bushed.”

  Eleazar stooped to gaze at the sleeping baby. He touched a rosy cheek with one long gnarled finger. “Such an angel.” He looked over at Richard, who had dragged a sleeping bag into the far corner and was lying with one arm across his face. “Richard, come look at this tiny miracle.”

  “No, thanks. What I already seen grossed me out big time, man. I almost puked.”

  Eleazar shook his head but smiled. Andrea rolled her eyes, bit her tongue, and gathered up the soiled sheets. “Wish we could throw these in the washer.”

  “Perhaps, in a day or two, we will be able to wash them in the creek.”

  Andrea smiled at the old man’s tenacious optimism, but her nose started to prickle and her eyes, water. “Yes. Perhaps.” She carried her bundle into the kitchen and tossed it out the back door. She’d deal with the mess later.

  Returning to the living room, she stretched out on top of her sleeping bag and stared up at a dark ceiling. The single candle on the coffee table burned steadily but offered minimal light. No one made a sound. Each was absorbed with his or her own thoughts. Even the baby slept. She was a precious baby girl, whose mother refused to hold her. Andrea wanted to shake the young woman, distressed or not. They were all distressed, for heaven’s sake.

  Closing her eyes and stifling a groan, Andrea turned on her side. A morbid thought rushed in and threatened to shatter her remaining courage. Would she and Keith ever have a child? Would they even get married? Keith might not make it back, safe and sound. Keith might be lying somewhere out in the darkness this very minute—alone, afraid, hurt, dying. Andrea turned to her side and faced the wall, away from Eleazar and the rest. She could hold back the tears no longer.

  Oh, Keith, where are you? Are you all right? Are you coming back to me? Please, come back, Keith. Please don’t die out there. I couldn’t live another day if you didn’t come back. I’d die, too. I’d willingly die, too. I can’t live without you. Oh, Keith.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Something cold was pressing against Andrea’s forehead. She turned her head to avoid it, but the clammy thing persisted. “No, Thor,” she groaned. “Go away.” The licking stopped and a voice, far off and fuzzy-sounding, broke through her dawning awareness. It sounded like Aunt Claire.

  Andrea opened her eyes.

  “Well. Thank goodness. You had us worried there for a minute,” Aunt Claire said with apparent relief. “Mike, I think she’s going to be all right.”

  Andrea couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Impossible! Aunt Claire, alive and well and talking to Uncle Mike. She struggled to s
it up. “Aunt Claire! You’re back! You’re home!” Her eyes zipped around the room. “Where’s Thor?”

  Her aunt looked taken aback for a second then smiled. Soothingly, but with a hint of concern, she clucked, “Thor? Never heard of it. And what’s this ‘back’ and ‘home’ business? We’re not the ones who’ve been away, young lady. You were out cold, there, for seven minutes; the longest seven minutes of my life.”

  Berry appeared and plopped down on the couch at her feet. He pinched one stocking foot and grinned. “What a girl. That stunt was awesome. You planning a trip to Mexico?”

  Andrea betrayed her utter bewilderment. “What are you talking about?”

  “You’re going to make one heck of a matador, cuz.”

  Shaking her head in dismay, she looked from her aunt to her cousin then back to her aunt again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve been trapped here for days, no weeks. We lost track of time. It was so dark. And the things surrounded the house. We had to get water from the creek. And then the poor priest died, and Keith—” A shudder passed through her. “Oh, God! Where’s Keith?”

  “Keith? Who’s Keith?” Berry wrinkled his nose.

  Andrea struggled again to sit up, but Aunt Claire held her down. “Now, honey, you just take it easy.”

  “No! I need to find him! Where’s Keith? Did he make it back? I need to find him!”

  “Shh, I don’t know what you’re rambling on about,” Aunt Claire said, pushing the tangled hair off Andrea’s flushed face. “You’ve had quite an upset, dear. All that fuss about college. You left the house, fit to be tied—”

  “Slammed the door,” Uncle Mike frowned.

  “And then that horrid creature appeared—”