Last Light Falling

by J. E. Plemons

  “Did you see anyone attacking those soldiers or anyone firing upon the tanks outside the courtyard?” Lieutenant John asks.

  “No, nobody, sir. We saw nothing until it was over,” says one woman.

  Right then, Iakov comes bursting through the doors, overhearing the woman’s response. “If you saw nothing, then why are you hiding in here? You are obviously lying.”

  “Sir,” Lieutenant John says.

  Iakov points his finger in the lieutenant’s face, “Don’t undermine my authority, Lieutenant. You have much to learn.”

  The woman with the baby glances over at the man to her left. He tries to avoid her eyes and shakes his head nonchalantly. The general readily notices the awkward exchange between the two and walks closer to the woman.

  “My patience grows weary, so why don’t you just tell me who did this so we can all leave here in peace,” he says, pulling out his gun and pointing it to her head. Terrified, she shakes and cries.

  “I’m going to count to three. One,” he says, staring directly into her eyes. “Two.” He cocks back the hammer on his gun. The woman realizes he isn’t bluffing, but before she can say a word, the man to her left leaps forward, attempting to disarm the general. Iakov, anticipating this move, quickly turns the gun and shoots the man dead. He returns the gun back at the woman’s head. “Shall we start again, or do we need an alternative persuasion?”

  “I don’t know anything, please, I don’t know,” she says, crying hysterically.

  “Sir, she knows nothing!” shouts Lieutenant John.

  “I’ll decide who knows what, Lieutenant! Now stand down.” Iakov just notices the baby behind her and asks her to move over to the side.

  “I understand the truth can be complicated for those who wish to hide it,” he says, as he lowers his gun down to his side. Her face relaxes and her tears stop flowing. The lieutenant takes a deep breath and sighs in relief. “But in your case, the truth is all you have and nothing more.” Iakov points the gun toward the baby stroller and fires into it.

  “No! God no!” the woman screams, throwing herself down to the floor, reaching into the stroller for her dead baby.

  The other woman falls to her knees without any expression, accepting her death and knowing she has no chance to live. The woman with the baby digs into the stroller hysterically and finds that the baby is not in there. Everyone turns to see the baby crawling on the floor behind some shelves. The woman’s screaming stops momentarily as she picks up the baby and embraces him tightly on the floor, crying.

  “I guess miracles do exist,” General Iakov says with a menacing smirk. He turns to the other woman on her knees. “Is there a miracle bullet left in my chamber for you?” He points the gun at the woman on her knees. He cocks back the hammer and just like before, he counts. “One, two …”

  “There were two of them! A girl and a boy, about fifteen or sixteen years old. They did this! They killed your soldiers,” she shouts.

  “Thank you for your cooperation.” Iakov pulls the trigger, shooting her in the head.

  “Is this really necessary, sir? Lieutenant John shouts.

  Iakov pulls John to the side. “I am beginning to question why I appointed you. We are the makers, we are the leaders, we decide what, how, and when. Yes, Lieutenant, it’s necessary to remind these people who is still in control. Perhaps you need reminding. Now take me to the loading dock.”

  I almost can’t bear to watch any more of this. I want this man dead. Gabe sets up the feed from inside the loading dock. The men walk in and immediately cover their mouths and noses. From their reaction, the stench from the rotting flesh must be overwhelming. The pungent odor forces two of the men to put on masks to keep from vomiting.

  General Iakov’s face grows increasingly worried as he observes the blood bath of dismembered bodies. His jaw clenches, and he loses it. “These are my men, this is my regime. I will not stand for this! She mocks me in my own domain. You have a new mission, Lieutenant, and I will not expect anything less than success, or you too will be one of these headless men. I want this girl, and I want her alive and unspoiled. I will break-in her body myself for every man that lies dead.”

  “Turn it off!” I shout at Gabe. I pace back and forth, with my stomach tied in knots, and anger fanning my emotions.

  “Calm down, Arena,” says Finnegan.

  “Calm down? What part of that did you find comforting?”

  “Look, we’re all pissed, but we will be better served if we keep our minds clear here. Emotions aside, we still have a mission.”

  “Then what are we standing here for?”

  CHAPTER 22

  The Louisiana State Prison can be seen a mile away as we travel down a back road, and shockingly, it’s much bigger than we anticipated. Judging by all the construction trucks outside the fence and the newly welded steel girders on the side of the prison, it appears they have been adding onto the compound to accommodate for more prisoners.

  As we get closer, Finnegan stops the car and pauses for a moment. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?” he asks, looking in the rearview mirror.

  I say nothing as I look out the window toward the compound, wondering if Myra, Daniel, and Juliana are still alive in there. How will I feel if we have come this far to see our parents die again? I still can’t get Jacob out of my mind. I fear his memory will haunt me until I’m dead. I reach in my shirt and pull out his necklace he gave me on our first date. I nervously rub the corners of the cross until my fingers blister and wonder how things would be different if he was still alive. I turn my head just enough so no one can see the tears running down my cheeks.

  “Arena,” says Finnegan, trying to get my attention, “are you okay?”

  I slowly turn to him, breaking my silence. “Let’s go retrieve our lost sheep.”

  Finnegan climbs up a tree high enough to get a closer viewpoint through his scope, while Gabe and I prepare ourselves for this rescue. Finnegan climbs back down and looks somewhat defeated.

  “So what’s your plan,” Finnegan asks, “because there is only one way in down there. The compound is completely encircled with twenty-foot fencing, and there are guards everywhere on top of each corner of the facility. Standing in the middle of the compound is tall watchtower.”

  “There is always more than one way into anything. I have a backdoor,” I say, pointing toward Gabe, who’s holding up a mini plasma cutter.

  “I do not like this already,” says Finnegan.

  “Gabe and I will go through the fence while you and Henry distract the guards and pull them in your direction.”

  “Distract them?” Henry questions.

  “It’s time to put that classic car to real use. Hope you’re ready for this, because you’re going through the front door … uninvited,” I say.

  I tell them to give us about thirty minutes to get set into position before they go in. There is brief silence as everyone looks around. “This is it, guys, there’s no turning back now,” I say as I kneel to the ground. “Lord, give us strength, make us accurate, and let us not leave what is unfinished. Amen.”

  Gabe and I set out on foot while Henry and Finnegan stay back, waiting for their move. We trek along the rocky slope down into the ravine below until we reach a flat grassy meadow. I hear Gabe panting a little as we walk closer to our destination, and by the time we get to the midpoint, he is sweating profusely.

  I stop underneath a tree on the way to give him a little breather, since we are slightly ahead of schedule.

  “Are you okay? You must be carrying a heavy load,” I say.

  “It’s not too bad. I think I just ate too much fish this morning.” He holds his side, cramping. He turns a little pale and starts to lean over as if he is about to faint. I quickly hold him up to keep him from falling down.

  “I’m okay; I just need to … need to …” Gabe says, swaying. I feel absolutely awful right now knowing he can’t possibly go on like this and that I will have to deal with this all alone. He push
es my arm away and stumbles behind a tree and vomits. Now I know he can’t possibly go on, and I promptly think of the alternative, but before I can come up with a solution, he walks back from behind the tree, wipes his mouth off, and grins.

  “I’m good. I knew I shouldn’t have had that fourth piece of fish,” he says. The blood slowly starts to pump back into his pale face.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” I ask again.

  “I feel just fine now, but I could use some mouthwash,” he says.

  “I concur.”

  We come as close as we can before moving any further past the tree line because the open area between here and the prison fence will easily expose our position. The positive is that the open area is only about fifty yards from where we stand, and all we can do now is wait for the signal.

  I know something is up in the tower, because the guards on the roof, who have stood in the same place for the last five minutes, begin to move from their designated positions. I reach into my quiver of arrows and set a razor-tipped one resting on the bow shelf, waiting for the right time to take out the closest guard to us.

  Finnegan and Henry move closer to the closed gates, and several guards run outside the fenced entrance with their guns drawn toward the car racing at them. Two fifty-caliber, electric-powered Gatling guns pop out on both sides of the car, and within seconds, the classic muscle car has instantly transformed into a killing machine.

  I pull back on the tight strings of the bow, aiming directly at the guard on the roof, while I wait patiently for the sound of gunfire. “When I release this arrow, you better be ready to sprint your ass as fast as you can to the fence,” I say.

  The car comes speeding furiously through the last turn directly in front of the entrance, and just before Finnegan barrels through the gate, he makes a hard right turn with the brakes applied and sends the car spinning a hundred and eighty degrees. With the car stopped, and the rear facing the front of the gates, about twenty armed guards pour out a side door, shouting for them to get out.

  And then it happens—the rocket launcher releases, plunging through the heavy gate, and all hell breaks loose, sending pieces of steel slicing through the air, penetrating the flesh of the guards who are running back into the compound. The car spins around and blasts through the opening with both Gatling guns violently spinning.

  With my eyes fixed on the guard atop the compound, I quickly release the arrow deep into his skull, sending him plummeting four stories to the ground. Gabe and I sprint across the grassy meadow and onto a paved section where the fence is buried deep into the concrete. I grab the plasma cutter and cut a small opening in the links.

  Just as we knock out the opening and enter the premises, about twenty guards come rushing out of a side door, moving toward the area of the explosion, but because of Finnegan’s successful distraction tactic, we go unnoticed.

  With all the doors locked from the inside, we take advantage of the one open door in front of us, where the guards came running out. Making sure no other guards might exit the door, I draw my guns carefully, dissecting every possible area and anticipating where guards may appear.

  There are stairs to the right of us leading up to the next floor, and a long corridor to the left, where two doors open to an enormous open area. I start down through the left corridor when Gabe suddenly stops me. “Wait,” he says.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  He pauses for a few seconds, then says, “Upstairs. We need to go upstairs.”

  “Are you sure?” I ask.

  “Trust me, that’s where the operations room is located. We should be able to find cell room information there.”

  When Gabe is specific about something, I completely trust him, so I turn around and head up the stairwell. I don’t know how he knows, but I’m not about to question his instincts now. We climb three flights of stairs until we reach the fourth floor, where a set of doors lead down a long hallway. There are so many corridors that feed off the main hall and it’s confusing; everything looks the same. I feel like a rat trapped in a steel cage and the only comforting thought is that I have Gabe with me to help guide us through this prison maze.

  With my back against the wall, I slowly step to my left and peer around the corner to make sure the hall is clear of guards. I tug on Gabe’s arm, indicating it’s clear for us to move, when out of nowhere, a rush of about a fifty men come running down the corridor, firing at us. Without hesitation, I pull out both guns, squeezing the triggers until both clips empty within seconds. The first several guards in front pile up on the floor, slowing down the rest just long enough for me to reload, but before I turn around the corner to fire again, Gabe moves in front of me with his backpack humming.

  He bursts around the corner, firing flying jagged metal discs that look like saw blades. The spinning discs slice through the guards, knocking them down like blades of grass, killing everyone in their path. I quickly glance around the corner and find a hall covered in blood and tangled bodies. Gabe disappears down the left corridor, and all I can hear is the shrill scream of death from the metal scrapping the sides of the walls.

  In shock, I wait for him to finish before he comes racing back around the corner. He jumps over the pile of bodies, landing awkwardly in a pool of coagulated blood, and slipping on his backside in pain.

  I quickly rush over to him to see if he’s okay. “Who would have thought that out of all the weapons, flying debris, and spraying of bullets, I would injure myself from a puddle of blood,” he says, wincing, then picks himself up.

  “Humbling, isn’t it? Now get up off your ass, we haven’t time to waste,” I order as Gabe rolls his eyes.

  We hurry down one of the other halls where Gabe believes the main operations room is located. The hall we enter is different from the others; the floor is made of steel mesh, and I can see straight down to the floors below. We walk down the hall and see a metal plaque on the wall, engraved with a map of the floor.

  Gabe was right; we’re about a hundred paces from the prison administrator area and the facility operations room. The halls to the left and right of the main corridor extend outward, leading to the cellblocks.

  As we get a little closer to the main room, a voice yells down from below, “I see them! Fourth floor, main corridor!”

  We run down the hall, but I only notice just a handful of guards, so I stop and pull out some thin trip wire leftover from the dart guns. I have Gabe run the wire in a z-pattern across the door in front of the main corridor where we were spotted. I walk down fifty paces, draw my guns, and wait.

  Five men rush around the corner, firing their guns randomly in different directions, missing everything entirely. These must be prison administrators, because they are the worst shooting guards of the bunch. When they slam into the wire, they all fall into one another, desperately grasping on to each other’s uniforms, trying to get up.

  I walk within five feet of the bumbling men and shoot all but one in the head. I leave the lone survivor laying there for a moment to rethink his actions. The only purpose for him now is to be our guide through the rest of this steel slave trap. I’m not sure why I chose him, maybe because he looks so different from the others. He’s scrawny and young and looks like he’s about to piss his pants.

  I cut the wires down and force the small man over by the wall. “Where did you learn to use a gun?” I ask.

  “I’m not a guard; I’m not one of them. I’m just one of the administrators. I push paper, that’s all,” he says, shaking. He is all of about five-and-a-half foot tall, probably weighing in about one hundred ten pounds.

  I point my gun to his head and say, “Who is your superior?”

  “I don’t know, I swear. I just got transferred here today. Before this, I was filing paperwork for a Chicago Psychiatric Ward, and working part-time at a Crusty Burger,” he says, as he is about to cry. I grab his wrists and recognize soft, unlabored hands with a few paper cuts. The poor guy looks like he has never touched a gun before in his life, and the
only reason he came storming with the other guards is probably because he was forced into action.

  “How did these guys recruit you into coming up here with them?” I ask, pointing at the dead guards on the floor.

  “Honestly, because there is no one left alive, I guess,” he says. “Please, I’m nobody’s enemy,” he declares, crying like a baby.

  “Stop your crying, I’m not going to kill you,” I say, rolling my eyes. “If you’re not an enemy, then why did you take this job?”

  “I don’t know. Insecurity?” he says.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Kyle,” he answers.

  “Come on, Kyle, stand up, we need to move,” I say. He’s still shaking, and I notice Gabe trying not to grin as I look down at the man’s pants. “So, is this the result of your insecurities, or do you always soil your pants?”

  “This is humiliating,” he says.

  “It could always be worse.”

  Kyle guides us through the main corridor and to the left near the operations room. I tell Gabe to hold back a little while I carefully turn the door handle to the room. I tightly grip my guns and prepare myself for an attack inside, but right before I burst in, two guards around the corner delay my entry into the room.

  As they draw their guns and force me to stand down, I also draw mine, aiming directly toward their heads, causing a stalemate.

  “Put down your weapons now,” demands one of the guards. They obviously are different from the other soldiers we have come in contact with, because they actually follow the simple rules of engagement by at least giving me a warning. Unfortunately for them, I don’t meekly surrender to the rules. I pull both triggers simultaneously, shooting both men in the head