The Fourth Trumpet (11 page)

As the priest’s voice rose in his utter despair, Eleazar got up and sat on the edge of the coffee table, facing the distressed man. “Joseph. You did all you could. Christ knows that you gave your all to save what you thought precious in His sight. Please, calm yourself. No one, least of all God, expected you to do more.”

Father Joe stared at the old man for a long moment and then settled back against the cushions. One tear trickled down his bruised cheek. “I know. I know. I did my best, but…”

“But nothing, young man. You are only human. You cannot walk through fire.” The black pastor chuckled. “At least, I have not heard that you Catholic priests can do that.
Yet
.”

Father Joe grimaced and added his own chuckles to the old man’s. Keith and Andrea grinned and Carrie was alert enough to look amused.

“What happened next?” Keith prompted. “You got those cuts and bruises from more than a close brush with fire.”

“Yes. After three futile attempts to reach the tabernacle, I caught a glimpse of a figure running behind the church. Thinking I could at least catch the perpetrator of this heinous crime, I chased after him. I’m still a fairly decent sprinter—won a few awards in college—so I’d no trouble catching up to the guy. It’s funny, but I’d really messed my hands. I guess trying to open the tabernacle. But I didn’t feel any pain—
then
. I sure do now.”

He raised his bandaged hands and studied them for a moment. Andrea spoke up. “Do you want some aspirin? I’m afraid that’s the extent of our medical supplies in the way of pain killers.”

The priest’s grin was lopsided. “Yes, that would be great. Thanks.”

Andrea got the aspirin and a glass of juice, and Eleazar held the glass to the man’s lips.

Keith pressed him to continue. “You haven’t told us everything.”

“Okay. Let’s see. Well, I caught up with the guy and managed to tackle him to the ground. I remember yelling something like ‘why? Why did you torch my church?’ but he only growled something unrepeatable and slammed me onto my back. That’s when I realized my hands weren’t working as well as they should. I tried to hang onto him, but couldn’t. Hurt too much.”

“The guy beat you up?”

“Well, he tossed me around a bit. It was my stupid tenacity that forced him to throttle me—probably more than he wanted. He was desperate to get away, and I was just as determined to stop him from doing so. He seemed almost frenzied with wanting to escape. That’s when I saw-I saw—I’m not sure
what
I saw, but it wasn’t from God.”

“You saw them. You saw the-the
things
. The monsters.” Andrea’s voice rose in pitch.

“I saw
something
horrible. The punk pushed me down and tore into the woods. I was scrambling to get up when when the
creature
or whatever it was pounced on me. Dear God, it weighed a ton. I could smell its foul breath, hear its raspy breathing. I remember saying a prayer—well, screaming it, actually—and then, suddenly, the monster let me go and loped off down the road. Man, I hurt so bad, I was afraid I’d pass out. I had the presence of mind to grab my lantern, then limped and hobbled, and practically crawled into the woods. I didn’t give a hoot anymore whether the punk had gotten away or not. I was too intent on getting
me
away from the-the
thing
, as you call it. I was afraid it would return. I was easy prey.”

“Yes, we’ve seen several of those-those
things
,” Andrea added, more subdued. “They’re awful.”

“I’ll say. Too awful to describe sanely. Anyway, I continued to push my way through the woods, tripped over something and fell really hard. Hurt like the dickens, too, but I finally made it to the road. No one around. And, I have to confess, this frightened me more than I ever remember being frightened before. I was alone. And really feeling awful. I couldn’t believe that no one was around. Seemed impossible in a town our size. But I was alone. No cars. No people flocking in morbid curiosity to see a church burn down. My good friend, Charlie Johnson, the Methodist minister right across the street, didn’t even come out.
That
really disturbed me. We’re good pals and help each other do odd jobs around both our churches. I called for him but he never appeared. Like the end of the world, and I was left behind. No pun intended.”

“I felt that way, too,” Andrea said. “I still feel that way.”

Nobody talked after that for a full five minutes. Each sat in the silent labyrinth of his or her private thoughts. Each was miles away from the darkened living room in the cold house at the bottom of an impossible abyss.

FOURTEEN

They talked for over an hour, with no other reason but to get better acquainted. That they might be destined to spend the rest of their lives as a unit was at the back of each person’s mind, Andrea supposed. If they were going to become a “family” then they needed to know more about one another.

Andrea related anecdotes about her life with her aunt, uncle and cousin, while Keith made them laugh, telling a hilarious tale about a prank he and his friends had played when they were boys. Then Father Joe reminded Eleazar of their first meeting and the subsequent unique duet at the ecumenical picnic. This whetted everyone’s curiosity, and they demanded to hear the story.

The various Christian churches in the area had sponsored a picnic the previous summer to encourage openness and cooperation in the community, and to emphasize what the churches had in common.

“Oh, yeah,” Keith nodded, “I stopped by for an hour. I remember the food was great, and there were quite a few games and raffles going on. People seemed to be having a great time.”

Father Joe grinned and winked up at the old Baptist preacher. “Remember the two-legged race, Eleazar?”

The dark-skinned man cringed. “Son, that is a mighty wicked thing you are doing, bringing that incident up in front of these nice young people.”

The Catholic priest laughed then winced. “Ouch. Eleazar, don’t make me laugh too much. I’m an injured man.” He shifted in his seat, grinned—a hint of mischief in his brown eyes. “We Catholics have a saying, ‘Confession is good for the soul.’ So, I’m confessing.”

“Humph! That is not just a Catholic saying, my boy. Tell the story, if you must. I am but a humble man.”

Father Joe smiled beatifically and said in an innocent voice, “I-I haven’t the strength. Why don’t
you
tell it?”

Eleazar glared at him in mock condemnation, then grinned. Looking at the interested faces around him, he highlighted the events leading up to the three-legged race. “The powers that be deigned that I, a humble Baptist minister, well into my seventies, should be partnered with this over six-foot tall, somewhere in his thirties, Catholic priest in what they brazenly called a three-legged race. Beside us was a team made up of a beloved elder in my church and the Methodist minister from Clarksville. On the other side, we had a robust Episcopalian and the fellow from Community Church of God. Well, the whistle blew and all blazes broke out. Joseph and I made such a clumsy, erratic duo that soon the other contestants gave us a wide berth and we—just the two of us—became the highlight of the entire unholy spectacle. We tripped over each other’s feet so many times that the fellow in charge debated whether calling in the paramedics, just in case.”

“Yeah,” Father Joe cut in, “and my bishop, who happened to be there, was in mortal fear that the ecumenical movement would be thrown back into the Dark Ages. To him, it appeared that the Baptists and the Catholics would have to go to war just to make things right.”

“Mmm hmm!” Eleazar hummed emphatically. “It was as obscene a display of un-cooperation, un-ecumenism, ever recorded. We were the entertainment of the year.”

“Well, we made people laugh, anyway,” the priest chuckled. “The crowd was unified to that extent.”

“Bless us, sweet Jesus! I shall never forget it.” Eleazar threw up his hands as though at a revival meeting, making his little audience laugh. For a brief interlude, darkness and fear and pain were forgotten.

That “night” they got some sleep—but not much. Twice, Andrea got up to give Father Joe more aspirin. His hands were giving him a rough time, and she worried that they were getting infected. Eleazar unwrapped the hands once, but said there was little more that could be done. He sprayed an antiseptic on the burns and then bandaged the hands in clean gauze. They had no more bandages or antiseptics. They were also running out of aspirin.

The old pastor then made a cursory inspection of the priest’s chest and abdomen. When he touched certain places, Father Joe winced or cried out. The old pastor looked grave. Andrea sensed he was more worried about the priest than he let on.

“I suppose Keith and I should go back to the Martins’ to see what medicines they might have,” Andrea’s murmured.

The old minister nodded. “Yes. I am afraid you are going to have to do just that. Joseph will need clean bandages again. It is the only thing I know to help ward off infection. But, as you can see, we have no more gauze. And he will need some more painkillers.”

Keith, who’d been speaking in low tones to Carrie, perked up at this last statement. “I’ll go,” he said. He had to tighten his hold on the young woman’s shoulder as she struggled to object. “No, Carrie. You know I have to. I’ll be all right. I came back this last time, didn’t I?”

“Why does it always have to be you? Why can’t Andrea go by herself? There’s nothing heavy to carry. Even Eleazar could make it. Couldn’t he? He made it all the way here, didn’t he?” Carrie’s voice was shrill.

Andrea wondered about the emotional woman’s obsession with her neighbor. Had she transposed her love for her missing husband onto this man? The whole thing gave Andrea a bad taste. Carrie was ill. She realized that; had heard about how neurotic some pregnant women got. Hormones or something. But this was over the top. By the odd look on Keith’s face, Andrea guessed her behavior embarrassed him, too.

Only the black minister remained tranquil and unaffected by Carrie’s selfish outburst. Eleazar rose and beckoned Keith to the other side of the room. “Do not be upset with her, Keith,” the old man whispered. “She is not herself, you know. Pregnant women at the best of times have difficulty with over-active emotions that run amuck. She has already been through more than a young mother-to-be should have to.”

“She’s been nothing but a petulant, spoiled brat this whole freakin’ time,” Keith hissed. “I’ve tried to be patient with her. I’m not even her husband, for crying out loud. When you come right down to it, I barely know her. I was friends with Rob. Not Carrie. Before this nightmare, I maybe spoke with her half a dozen times. I’ve about
had
it with her. God knows we’re all scared. Why can’t she rise to the occasion like Andrea?”

“Hmm,” Eleazar hummed thoughtfully. “Matthew 5:38-40.”

“What?”

“And Romans 5:3.”

“Bible passages again? You enjoy this game of yours, don’t you, old man?”

Eleazar shrugged. “It is my job.”

“Right. Well, I appreciate your concern, but it’s getting pretty damned annoying hearing you spout Bible verses every freaking minute. Okay? I appreciate the fact that you feel you have to do it since it’s your job, but right now
I’ve
got a job to do.” He turned on his heel and motioned to Andrea. “Andrea, I’m going to your neighbors for supplies. But first, I’m going out to bring in those buckets. Do you think you could shine the light—at least from the porch?”

Andrea jumped up. “I can, but what if there are more
things
out there?”

“Well, I’ll just have to take the chance that there aren’t. You don’t have to do it, Andrea, if you’re scared.” Keith sighed.

“No, no, I can—I mean, I
am
scared, and you should be, too.” She swallowed. “But you can’t carry two heavy buckets and hold a flashlight at the same time. And two is safer out there than one. So, I’ll do it.”

“Fine.” He glanced over at Eleazar, who was trying to soothe Carrie. She was working herself into another state of hysteria, and it was taking the old pastor’s full attention to calm her. “We’ll be back as soon as we can. Take care of her, Eleazar.” He raked a hand through his hair in frustration. “Man! I wish I had some kind of weapon.”

Eleazar nodded. “You just need faith,” he said simply. He looked at Andrea, who stood mute in the deep shadows. “Child, say a prayer.”

Andrea shook her head. “You do the praying.”

“I will,” the old man said in a low voice.

Andrea thought Keith would explode, but he reined in his anger. Enunciating his words, he faced the minister. “Please. I
appreciate
your
predilection
for religion, but we don’t have the time nor the patience to hear you prattle on and
on
about it. I need something
concrete.
” He ran both hands through his hair. “I mean, I know praying in the Old Testament made food mysteriously appear in the nick of time but, well, pardon me if I don’t think that’ll happen now. I—
we
—need to actually work to get supplies. Get it?”

From his prone position on the couch, Father Joe lifted a bandaged hand. “Keith.”

Keith turned toward the priest, his anger dissolving. “Yes, Father Joe?”

“Listen to Pastor Thomas. He’s right on target.”

“Sure. Okay. Fine.” He lifted both hands. “Sorry for being testy, Pastor.”

“I understand, son.” Eleazar smiled.

Father Joe grinned. “That’s great. Thanks, Keith.”

“Right.”

The priest lifted one bandage hand. “One more thing.”

“What, Father?”

“When you do your hunting and gathering, see if they have any chocolate, will you?”

Keith’s anger evaporated and a grin spread across his face. “We’ll see what we can do.”

“Thanks. God bless you.”

“Okay. We’re going now. We can’t waste any more time.”

The black minister waved them away. “God be with you. Come back to us. We will be waiting. And praying.” He winked.

FIFTEEN

Andrea followed Keith through the kitchen, out the back door and into the ever-present night. It took them only a few minutes to re-fill the buckets and haul them up to the kitchen. Then they headed down the driveway, intent on getting to the neighbor’s house and back as soon as possible.