Infringement (26 page)

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Atau walked up the garden path toward the house, carrying some type of vegetable as Declan sat in a misty rain looking over the Sacred Valley below. Declan and Atau made eye contact with one another, and Atau said to him, “Something very good for dinner.”

Declan stood up and smiled, “Atau, can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“It’s a personal question.”

“Personal?”

“Something about yourself.”

“That’s fine.”

“Are you religious?”

“Religious?”

“Do you believe in God?”

“Oh yes, of course.” Atau looked over the garden vista out toward the valley and said, “How could I not. God is all around us. None of this was made by accident. Don’t you agree?”

“Yes, yes I do.”

“See you inside.”

“Thank you, Atau.”

Declan looked through the misty rain at the mountains surrounding him. The light water dropping on his face was refreshing, almost purifying, and he thought of the last months he’d spent with his dad so many years earlier.

His dad had done everything he could to downplay, or ignore entirely, his depleting energy and rapidly decaying body, but being only ten years old at the time, Declan had a difficult time understanding what was happening. All he wanted to do was play with him, to have as much of his father’s attention as he’d always received. Declan remembered times when his dad just couldn’t do it, couldn’t get out of bed, and how Declan had been less than gracious when he didn’t get what he’d wanted. He thought of how the disappointment, so evident in his young eyes and childish attitude, must have torn his father apart.

Declan wished with all his heart that he could go back, take back the selfishness he’d exhibited throughout his life. He wanted to could go back and, just one more time, tell his dad how much he loved him and how much he’d miss him. Both seemed like such understatements given the influence his father had played, before and after his death, in Declan’s formation and development.

Through it all, his father tried his best to make each moment count. He had tried to give Evan and Declan memories, lots and lots of memories, which could never be taken from them, no matter what. Declan’s last memory, his clearest, were his dad’s last words, which began to make sense to Declan for the first time. They were, simply, “Trust God. In all things, trust God.”

Those words lingered between his ears, “Trust God. In all things, trust God.” For the first time since his father had passed away, Declan felt himself beginning to do just that.

All Louis heard was the whistling of streaking missile fire and explosions on every side of him. His ears rang from the constant barrage they’d been under since early morning. The Iron Dome batteries fired constantly, trying in vain to intercept the innumerable missiles being fired from across the Syrian border. IDF personnel ran about the small outpost, IAF fighter jets shot through the early evening sky overhead, but the barrage continued almost unabated for what seemed to Louis like days.

A natural reporter, Louis lived on the adrenaline that coursed through every inch of his body, which was caked in dust, sweat and days old body odor. He observed, and tried to scribble down notes on, everything around him: Sgt. Ya’alon and the other IDF soldiers shouting to another in Hebrew and, sometimes, English; the lingering odor of gunpowder; and the constant fire of automatic weapons mixed with the artillery booms. As much as he hated to admit it, Louis found it all to be a rush.

Sgt. Ya’alon led Louis into a small room in the outpost and closed the door so he could hear the officer on the other end of his state of the art Elad Yarok mobile communicator. “Please, shhh,” he advised Louis.

Louis stood still, taking in what little there was to look at in the tiny, windowless, bare room as Sgt. Ya’alon was talking. Suddenly, Louis heard a loud piercing whistle in the air right above the outpost. Then, out of nowhere, an explosion and the entire building rocked, knocking Sgt. Ya’alon and Louis to the ground. Sgt. Ya’alon moved quickly toward a stunned Louis and lifted him up off the floor.

“C’mon, Mr. Martino. We’re pulling back right now.”

“What’s happening?”

“We’re sustaining a prolonged attack on all fronts. The Iron Dome can’t keep all the missile and rocket fire out. It’s coming from all sides. There’s been a confirmed biological attack in Ramat HaSharon, apparently V-X gas from near Damascus. Israelis are dying. All civilians, troops and personnel still on the border are being pulled back to a safe distance immediately. The decision has been made.”

“What decision?”

“A targeted nuclear response on Damascus and the surrounding area,” Ya’alon responded as they came out of the room. “Right now we’re too close. We need to fall back at least another 60 km and have very little time to do so. Stay right next to me, understand?”

“Wow,” Louis said stunned.

“Do you understand?”

“Absolutely.”

“Good. The IDF has been ordered to initiate a complete evacuation from Golan. We’re escorting civilian transports to Nazareth, which is about 130 kilos from Damascus.”

Ya’alon hurried back to his unit and quickly gave the orders. Other units had already begun the pull back, loading into armed personnel carriers, Humvees and trucks. Louis followed Ya’alon outside and directly into a Humvee.

Explosions continued to rock in and around the outpost, as the IDF troops began the fall back. Ya’alon drove the Humvee, leading three other Humvees from enough distance so as not to form a cluster of targets. The three vehicles drove quickly through town to the staging area where another IDF unit was helping load civilians onto a number of buses. Ya’alon got out and spoke with one of the other soldiers, then came back to the Humvee.

“We’ve got the first three,” he advised everyone. “They’re almost finished loading the final bus now. When it’s ready, we’ll alternate: our Humvee in lead, then bus, then Humvee, and so on. Keep the required distance as we don’t want to create a target cluster. Clear?”

The final bus finished loading and the caravan moved out. As the vehicles rolled at high speeds south along Highway 98, a Squadron of IAF F-15 Eagles soared past them heading in the direction of the border. A few seconds later, as the F-15’s reached the border, they could be heard unloading their bomb payloads and laying ground fire all across the border area, essentially obliterating anything and anyone in the vicinity.

Louis looked at Ya’alon and asked, “Is it just Damascus?”

“As far as a nuclear response goes, yes. Whether it came from Assad or ISIS, Syria is responsible for the V-X attack. The other trouble areas, Gaza, the West Bank, Lebanon and the borders are all too close to home. They’re getting what we just heard behind us: prolonged, widespread, heavy damage inflicting air strikes and artillery fire.”

“What about the civilian populations?”

“At this point, the only issue is Israel’s survival. Unfortunately, we’ve reached a level in the conflict where non Israeli civilian populations cannot be a consideration any longer.”

As Declan closed his eyes, he heard the careless joyful sounds of children playing in the distance. When the light returned, he found himself standing on a playground surrounded by snow-capped peaks. It was warm and sunny out and Declan looked across the playground to spot his niece and nephew, amid a slew of other children, running after one another toward the steps leading up to the top of a twisty spirally slide. Sitting on a bench, watching the kids play, were Evan, Michelle, Declan’s mom and Megan.

Megan made eye contact with him and a sparkle lit up her already beautiful emerald eyes. At first Declan couldn’t place why, but Megan looked different to him. Her face was a bit more round, her eyes a bit more radiant than he’d ever seen them. Declan marveled at her, awash in the afternoon sun, as he walked toward them.

“You finally made it,” Megan said as she hugged him. Declan caught sight of the subtle glint of a wedding ring on her left hand, and looked at his own hand to find a silver band.

“I did. You look wonderful,” he replied.

He greeted and hugged his mom, Evan, and Michelle, then took a seat next to Megan on the bench. The kids were running and sliding and swinging and laughing along with the other kids on the playground. Declan sat back on the bench and let the warm breeze whisk across his sunlit face. For that moment, everything was as it should be. He was completely happy.

“Uncle Declan, Uncle Declan, come play with us,” Will and Charlotte shouted as they came over to him. “You can be the monster and chase us.”

“Okay, I’m in,” he responded, quickly jumping to his feet and chasing after them. The kids instinctively split up, Charlotte climbing the steps to the top of the spirally ladder and Will running in the direction of the swings. Declan made a decision and chased Charlotte up the steps. She laughed out loud and let out a little scream as she ran across the play structure toward the slide. Declan had nearly caught her when she slid down the slide to safety at the bottom.

“Haha, I escaped,” she called back to him.

“Not for long. Here I come.”

As Declan knelt down onto the slide, his ears were suddenly filled with a near-deafening shout which echoed throughout the playground to the mountain peaks towering in the distance. Everyone shuddered at the sound and stopped in their tracks. The voice sounded like a man, but there was a quality to the voice, a tone and tenor, that was otherworldly and unlike anything Declan had ever heard before. He stood back up, scanning the area to see if he could locate the source.

Almost immediately after the shout ceased, Declan heard what sounded to him like a trumpet blast. It was all-encompassing, yet not loud. It was piercing, but not in any way unpleasant. It was continual. The sound seemed to him, celestial.

Still standing atop the play station, Declan continued to scan the area in search of the source of the voice and the trumpet blast, but saw nothing. He looked down to Evan and the others on the ground to find them doing the same. Everyone at the playground had stopped whatever they were doing and were looking around quizzically. It was clear they’d all heard the same sounds.

After a few seconds, Declan’s eyes turned back to Evan, who was looking straight up toward the blue sky with a captivated expression of sheer awe on his face and tears streaming down his cheeks. Declan looked up too and, when he finally laid his eyes upon His face, radiating brighter than the sun ever had, he was immediately overcome with a rush of pure, undiluted serenity. As promised, there in the sky amongst the dull clouds which seemed so much whiter only moments earlier, He’d finally appeared.

Like all the others, Declan stood motionless, looking up at the face of Jesus Christ in the sky, the face of the one man who had lived a blameless life on the Earth and who had promised to return “soon”.

Then, as quickly as He’d appeared, He was gone and the trumpet blast ceased. A stifling silence filled the area. Declan tore his gaze from the sky above and looked around the playground, but saw no children. He looked to the bench where his family had been, and found it empty. No Evan, or Michelle, or his mom, or Megan. They had all disappeared in a flash, along with His face and the trumpet blast. Panicked, Declan turned to where Will had last been running, but as with all the other children, there was no sign of him. Charlotte, who, seconds earlier, had been at the bottom of the slide, was gone as well. Every child, and many of the adults, had simply vanished.

As the others who had been left behind with Declan on the playground began to realize their children, spouses, or friends had disappeared, the sounds of childish laughter and play that had filled the playground less than a minute earlier were replaced by sobbing and the screams of terror and panic. When he fully understood and recognized the magnitude of what had just happened, Declan let out no sound at all, but simply slumped down at the top of the slide looking down at the gray perforated-metal floor. He knew what had just taken place and, he knew, without any doubt, that he’d missed it. He’d been left behind, and tears of sorrow and remorse began to flow from his eyes because he understood where Megan and the others had gone and what was yet to come for him and those who, like him, had remained.

“Please, wait here, Mr. Martino,” Sgt. Ya’alon requested as he and Louis exited the Humvee. Louis raised his camera and began taking shots of the throngs of Israeli civilians, many of whom wore gas masks, as they were escorted off the busses and into a large school nearby. As they were substantially farther from the border, the sounds of rocket and missile fire had died down. Louis was dirty, hungry and exhausted, but still running on a healthy dose of adrenaline. He found a small energy bar in his backpack and took a large bite, trying to get something into his stomach.

A few minutes later, Sgt. Ya’alon returned and said, “We’ve been ordered to stay here in Nazareth.”

“How are things in the other cities?”

“There’s been a substantial amount of damage to Jerusalem and the outlying areas, and they’re still coming under fire, although to a lesser degree of late. Much the same for the other major cities. With the bio attack, Ramat HaSharon is hurting the worst. The casualties there are high.”

“So what are we supposed to do here?”

“We’ve been ordered to secure the school and maintain the safety of the civilians inside.”

“Are we at a safe distance here?”

“Yes, we’re a sufficient distance from the blast radius, although we’ll still probably be able to see it from here.”

“See the cloud?”

“Yes, it should be visible to some degree.”

“When’s the strike coming?”

“Anytime time now.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes, so we should get you inside. I need to go up on the roof, get a view of the perimeter and get some men stationed up there.”

“I’d like to come with you.”

“I’m not sure it’s safe, Mr. Martino. I think you’d be better off inside.”

“Come on, I won’t be able to see anything from inside. I’m a journalist, remember? And this is history in the making.”