“He’ll shoot himself before he shoots us. Besides, we could use the extra help,” I say.
“I’ve never killed a man before,” Harold says, shaking.
“Well, you have my permission to now,” I say.
Harold sticks his bulbous head around the corner to get a look at what we are about to be up against. “Are you kidding me? There’s like thirty officers down the hall,” he says. His face has grown pale.
I load a fresh clip in my gun and hand Gabe my cloak while Harold’s eyes grow wide as he stares at my swords. “Who the hell are you, the Grim Reaper?” he asks.
“Close,” Gabe answers.
“I got this,” I say.
“Got what? Does she have a death wish or something?” Harold says.
Before I draw forth my fury, Gabe hands me a flash bomb. I take a deep breath, then turn the corner and unleash hell. I arm the flash grenade and toss it in the middle of the carpeted floor as I wait for chaos to ensue.
The intense flash of blinding light temporarily disorients the officers long enough for me to empty round after round, killing everything in my path until the clip runs dry. I turn the corner to see more officers staggered down the next hall as I pull my second pair of guns. One by one, I take them down, but in the chaos of flying bullets, my shoulder is grazed.
I hold back behind a metal filing cabinet, and press lightly on my upper arm that’s bleeding. The pain is agonizing, but I must press on. About a minute later, six more men carefully walk through the mass of bodies lying on the floor. I hold my breath as they pass by me, while I slowly take out two of the black widow throwing knives.
As they look around, I stand behind them, ready to toss the blades in their necks. These are obviously not the best-trained officers, or they would have sensed I was hiding and never turned their backs.
I quickly look behind me before I move forward. I clasp the two blades together to get their attention. When they turn around, I fling the black steel knives into their chests. I immediately grimace at the stinging pain in my left shoulder. The men stagger backwards, struggling to grab their guns, and giving me no other option but to finish them. I rush forward and leap onto the end of the couch arm and eject the two blades from my boots. Gravity quickly sends me and my heavy-bladed boots falling down onto the men with the tips of the sharpened steel piercing their eye sockets. As the two men fall back, I fall hard with them. I quickly retract the knives from their eyes and tumble over to the side before I’m left standing to face the lone officer left.
He has no gun, but is armed with a long, shiny, serrated stiletto. He’s a strong brute, towering at least a foot over me, and he doesn’t seem to be intimidated at all. I drop back in my stance far enough to draw one of my swords. I tilt the polished blade slightly to the left, and I get a glimpse of why this man is so confidently arrogant. Right behind me stands another officer with his gun drawn toward my back.
I slowly inch my hand down and grip the handle of the dagger hanging on my left thigh.
“I do not fear you. You’ll have to strike me down with your sword before I move,” the officer says with confidence.
I quickly crouch down and sling the dagger at the man behind me, directly into the upper part of his chest. He drops his gun and holds his chest, before falling to his knees in excruciating pain. I twist the blade twice back and forth before I pull straight up to his neck and out.
When I turn back around to the tall overconfident officer, his eyes grow wide with fear and his brows feverishly crinkle. “So be it,” I say. I aggressively move forward and strike across the man’s gut, sending him in misery to his knees. For whatever twisted impulse that has stained my heart, it has now grown with hatred. I pull my other sword from my back, and scissor-cut his neck, decapitating him.
Gabe passes from the corner of the hall as he watches the man’s head roll in front of him. Harold follows at a distance behind Gabe as he lurches over in disgust when he enters the hall into a sea of red. “Oh my God, what have you done? You … you did this, these bodies, this blood. I can’t believe what you did,” Harold says, stuttering in absolute shock. “I think I’m gonna be sick.” He bends over and vomits in the potted plant beside him.
“Come on, this way,” I say, walking toward the next hall where the elevators are. One lone man at the corner of the intersecting hall raises his hand up and moans for help as he writhes on the floor, suffering in pain. His wounds are too fatal for help, so I shoot him in the head as we pass by, which prompts another episode of vomiting from Harold.
I’m not sure what awaits us when we exit to the second floor, but it can’t be any worse than what we just witnessed. The elevator doors open to an empty but luxurious hall, and the only thing that awaits us is the high ringing sound of champagne glasses clinking together and the chattering ambiance of a soiree.
I tell Gabe to watch from a distance near the west side of the winding stairs for any unwanted officers that may be left overlooking the party. From the balcony, I carefully peruse the guests below, but I see no other officers in sight; in fact, it’s strangely unsecured for such a prestigious dinner party—at the White House, no less.
It’s hard to believe all these well-dressed guests back such a wicked government, knowing they will inherit the rewards from their support. Forget that this country is dying if not already dead, as long as they are taken care of, nothing else matters to them. Wealthy constituents seem to breed a common façade when interacting on behalf of their monetary endeavors. I look over to Gabe as he nods the okay, while Harold stands behind me, trembling.
As President Kriel mingles with his guests, a couple of waiters roll out a food cart with an exquisite, marble-frosted cake that reads: New World. President Kriel taps a table knife against the top portion of his champagne glass to get everyone’s attention.
“To the future of our hopes and dreams. Tonight we rebirth a new nation, a new law, and a new hope,” he says, holding his glass toward the guests. “Now who is going to cut the cake?”
I pull out one of my daggers and sling it down into the middle of the gorgeous cake. “Shall I save you a corner piece?” I say, standing next to the second floor balcony.
President Kriel looks shocked. “Who the hell do you think you are coming in—”
“Shhhhh,” I interrupt him. “I think you already know. I’m the person you want on your side,” I say, walking down the curved steps to the first floor.
Everyone stops drinking their champagne and quickly becomes silent.
“You think you can just walk in here, in the White House uninvited, and threaten me without being noticed?” he asks.
“Yep,” I simply say as I pull the dagger from the cake.
I pinch the back of the blade and run my two fingers down the edge, wiping clean the blood from the last victim. I sling the blood onto the cake along with whatever other blood is dripping from my sleeve. “You seem to have very clumsy officers and untrained guards employed by you. You might want to reconsider hiring someone else. It appears you have a bunch of openings now,” I say with extreme sarcasm.
The fire in his eyes glows with hatred, as he rolls his fists tight and grits his teeth.
“Arena, look out!” Gabe shouts from the stairs. I turn to my left as a guest falls to the floor with half his head blown off, and a gun still firmly tucked in his hand. People scream and panic, but they sit still, afraid they might be the next one to fall. Gabe may have just saved my life by killing this man who failed to shoot me.
I address the crowd with anger fueling my blood. “You people disgust me. You smile and fill your glasses with delusions of grandeur, hiding behind the very evil that stands before you, and delight in this man’s fallacious tongue. A veracious man he isn’t. You honor a man who breathes heresy. You sing praise to the one who has scorned this nation and burned its freedoms. Murdering, starving, and even raping our own people. And for what—money, power, glorified control? You people fall no further from blame than he does. You suppo
rt a man spawned from wickedness by giving him money that he so graciously accepts. He has bled the country dry, and too many of us are too broken to stand against such devilish greed.”
Right then, three officers barrel through the front doors with guns drawn as a last rush of defense. I kneel down beside President Kriel and shoot two in the head while Gabe takes out the third. Everyone lays down on the floor in massive panic, screaming.
“I want you all to remember this moment when you wake from your nightmares sweating and screaming. The law of man will not stand alone, but the law of the Lord will last forever. He made you and He will destroy you, but if it’s redemption you seek, I suggest you take this rare opportunity and run home, pray to your Maker, and hope He shows mercy on your souls, because right now, I’m not feeling so merciful,” I say.
Everyone just stares at each other in confusion, so I try to make it easier for them when I shout. “Now!” I say, pointing my gun at the man standing to the left of me. Everyone quickly stands up and runs out the front door, screaming.
I place my gun back in my jacket and draw my swords toward President Kriel. I slowly walk behind him and kick the back of his legs until he is on his knees.
“It doesn’t matter what you do with me, you can’t stop the future of this nation,” he says.
“This nation has no future, but death. Planning an invasion won’t solve your problems,” I say.
“It matters not, the invasion will happen with or without me. War is imminent in this world—it’s what sustains fear, and that fear is what breeds cultural indifferences, which is why this nation was once powerful in its own glory and will be again,” he promises.
“War brings death to all who do not respect it; there is no victor in conflict until all have succumbed to the truth.”
“And what is that?”
“The only victor in war is the one who doesn’t wage it,” I say.
“I’ve led this nation with great honor and dignity, and you come here to degrade my integrity with your threats. I am your President, and I head this country, not you. Killing me will not solve the world’s problems,” he says.
“No, but it’s a start.” I slide both swords from his neck, leaving his body headless.
Harold walks down the staircase in bewilderment, while Gabe checks the front door for more officers.
“Come on, Harold,” I say, grabbing his arm, “you’re not done yet, I need one more favor. Do you have a car?” He just stares into space. “Do you have a car?” I ask again, trying to shake him back into coherence.
“Y-yes … it’s around the corner,” he says, stuttering.
“Go get it and meet us out by the fence in front of the fountain,” I say.
“What?”
“Just do it!”
We carefully go outside on the north lawn toward the fountain where Finnegan is supposed to meet us. As we thoroughly observe our surroundings, we notice a number of dead officers spread out on the well-manicured grass. One hangs from a tree on the west side, and several decorate the steps we just passed, their blood painting the white columns red.
As we come to front of the fountain, I see Finnegan on the other side, but no trace of Henry except for his jacket that is resting over the side and into the water. I glance over to the right and see a trail of blood that leads around the fountain, so I carefully follow it. Lying against the white stones is Henry—unconscious.
CHAPTER 31
I clasp my chest as my stomach sinks. Finnegan kneels down and carefully puts his ear above Henry’s mouth and nose. “He’s still breathing,” says Finnegan.
I quickly kneel down beside Finnegan looking for exit wounds on Henry’s body, and while tearing his shirt back, we discover a bullet wound in his right shoulder. It’s nothing too serious, but enough to have knocked him off his feet and slam the back of his head against the stone wall of the fountain.
Blood dribbles out the backside of his head, rendering him unconscious, but the cut isn’t deep enough to have cracked his skull.
Suddenly, Harold’s car comes screeching toward the front of the lawn. We carefully, but quickly pick Henry up, and carry him over the small fence and into Harold’s car.
I race over to the Camaro parked on the other side of the street, and swing open the door. Crouched down in the back seat is Juliana.
“We need your help, Henry’s been shot,” I say panting.
I quickly reach in the back of the trunk and grab the first aid kit.
“You and Gabe stay with Henry while I go with Finnegan,” I say to Juliana.
“What do you want me to do?” asks Harold.
“Follow us. We need to get as far away as we can from the city. This place will soon be swarming with soldiers.”
Finnegan pulls out a syringe from the first aid kit and sucks in one mg of Epinephrine into it. He stabs the needle into Henry’s upper thigh and pumps the adrenal medication into his bloodstream. Soon after, Henry wakes up in shock, mumbling Julian’s name over and over as he looks around, disoriented.
Finnegan snaps his fingers repeatedly in front of Henry’s face until he resurfaces to reality. “We need to get some fluids in him as quickly as possible; this adrenaline won’t last long,” says Finnegan.
Henry’s eyes begin to refocus, and a grin grows from the corners of his mouth. “Arena,” he says as he tries to sit up, but quickly wobbles back.
“I’m here, you’re going to be okay, just sit back. You’ve lost some blood, but you’re alive.”
“And Juliana?” he asks.
“I’m right here, Henry,” Juliana says, holding his hand.
“We need to get the hell out of here.” I say.
“I need to dress these wounds now. Blood is still trickling from the bullet hole and infection is likely,” she says.
“Just make it quick.” Watching Juliana nurse Henry’s wounds is just another reason why Gabe is so blessed to have her around.
We leave the Capitol broken and abandoned, yet another scar hanging from the government’s ego. Though the administration lives on, its weakened armor is now stained with blood. Night begins to fall as we drive into the twilight, and I sit back, wondering if I have changed my fate, because the only ambition I have left in me is to kill or be killed.
The skies draw back, and blackness covers over us like a blanket. The only glimmer of light are the few various pinholes in space shining brightly upon the world below, reminding us how small we really are and how great our God is. It’s not until we reach a small remote town in the middle of nowhere that I begin to wonder how Niki and Father Joseph are holding up. I don’t think I’ve missed two people more in my life than them right now, but I fear having to go back and share the unfortunate news about Myra to Niki.
Before I fall back into a deep slumber, we find an old, uninviting motel just off the road to take refuge in for the night. There’s nothing appealing about this place except the warm water it brings and the semi-soft mattresses for our tired bodies to lie on. It’s a measurable step up from the den’s less-than-desirable sleeping quarters, but I’d rather camp out on the dusty floor and risk being bitten by a spider then lay in one of these lice-infested beds. Of course, the televisions in both rooms do not work, but I wouldn’t have expected anything different.
Henry’s wounds are redressed and a dose of antibiotics from Finnegan’s survival kit is given to him. With every drop of liquid and morsel of food Henry takes in, his body strengthens and recoups. While everyone takes rest for the night, I keep myself awake, afraid I may drift back into some dark realm that haunts my soul.
Whatever malevolence lurks among us, it knows my fears, and it will waste no opportunity to tempt my spirit. I can bear no more pain from my past, and if it is hope that this evil seeks to devour, then I will seek refuge in my Lord, for only He has the power to protect my heart from turning against me now. With the death of President Kriel, my burdens have lightened, but my anxieties have not lifted. Iakov still haunts me, and until he is
dead, I will not be satisfied. As much as I want to believe the end is nearing, the president is only but a small taste of evil that has left us. Though Kriel is dead, it’s Iakov that stands in my way from caring.
I leave the others at peace while I wander outside into the deep thicket of green to gather my own serenity. Even with all the creatures of the night surrounding me in the dark woods, I still feel tranquility and the calm I can rest in as I pray out to my Lord. I find a small clearing just beyond a wall of mighty oaks that stand with old age, courage, and a history of stories untold.
Their gnarled cracks, and knotting, twisted roots run deep beneath the earth, keeping them steady and wise. They seem like giants hovering over and shading the young saplings that surround them below. It reminds me of young children sitting around in the night air, listening to stories of the past from the wise elders who brought them into the world. These woods are aged, mysterious, and have an obscurity about them that I cannot unfold. I can feel the rising dark breathe within my space of stillness as the shadows beyond the oaks dance with hellish delight, attempting to disengage me from my Father.
I cry out, asking Him to ease my burdens that I can no longer bear. My tired, worn body has emerged from the brokenness most can’t endure, but the pain has still been unforgiving—yet I cringe at even the thought of complaining about my own sufferings. Christ suffered more for me than I could ever imagine. Why my malcontent should be justified is purely nonsensical at best.
“Father, forgive me, I give you all I have to offer. I give you my heart, my mind, and my soul. Please, Father, I beg of you, to give me the strength to carry on this fight. I feel weary and broken, yet you have still given me the comfort to find rest in. I shall not give in nor turn from your favor. Protect me, dear Father. As long as my able body is willing to, I will stand firm by my convictions and praise your holy name, but I don’t know how much more of this I can take. I fear this fight will endure to the bloody end until I break and I take my last dying breath. I beg you, Father … take me from this. Please take me from this now …”
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