The Fourth Trumpet (7 page)

They waited.

Huddled against one another for warmth and sanity, they waited.

And listened.

Outside, they heard strange and frightening sounds. Heavy things plodding, making deliberate and methodical movements as they circled the house; things breathing and wheezing, panting in evil anticipation, teeth gnashing and grinding, mouths salivating for prey.

Horrible sounds.

Sounds from the bottomless pit of hell.

Thor wormed his muzzle under the crook of Andrea’s arm and didn’t move.

Andrea closed her eyes. She searched her frazzled mind for a happy memory.

A fragrant breeze tickled the back of her neck. For once, she smelled only growing things—sweet and spicy—not the awful chickens and pigs from the neighboring farm. Pushing her way through tangled shrubs and around massive oaks, Andrea kept both eyes on the ground. Copperheads filled her with terror, and she’d already seen one beside Uncle Mike’s woodpile. She hated it here, but couldn’t stand another minute inside, listening to her aunt and uncle rant and rave about college. And, if she were honest, she’d have to admit the day was perfect for being outside. Cerulean blue sky, a few puffy white clouds, caressing winds. A beautiful summer day.

A poke in her ribs brought Andrea back to the cold, dark kitchen. She looked at Keith. He was mouthing something she couldn’t understand. She leaned closer to read his lips.

“Andrea,” he breathed. “They’re gone. I think.”

She cocked her head and strained to pick out anything remotely suspicious. Nothing. The snarling, gnashing sounds were no longer audible; no heavy, plodding footsteps could be heard. Deathly silent outside. Not a breath of air disturbed a leaf or ruffled a tuft of grass.

Andrea nodded and let out a pent-up sigh. She glanced over at Carrie, who was asleep on Keith’s shoulder. Keith roused her gently so as not to startle her. Carrie opened her eyes and stared vacantly at Andrea, as though she didn’t recognize her. Keith pulled the woman to her feet and guided her into the living room.

All three were stiff from sitting on the cold floor for so long, so Andrea hauled out logs to put in the fireplace. A lot of ash and burnt embers cluttered the space, and it occurred to her that that was yet another job she’d taken for granted. Someone had to shovel out the collected ash before too long or it’d be difficult to light a fire.

But not now. Now they needed a fire—for warmth as well as cheerfulness. She was just about to wad up some newspaper for a starter when Keith came and took over. She relinquished the job to his willing hands without argument.

Once the fire was burning well, Keith turned to Andrea and shrugged. “Okay. That’s better, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is,” Andrea replied.

She glanced at Carrie, huddled in the recliner, the blanket tucked around her. The poor girl looked miserable. And frightened beyond sanity. Andrea was worried about her. If she went into premature labor, what would they do? Could she and Keith deliver a baby—without proper heat and light and everything else that was needed? Would a premature baby even live?

“Is there something I should do?” Andrea asked Keith.

“Heck if I know. I think we’re doing all we can. She’s warm, well-fed—as safe as she can be, under the circumstances.”

“Okay. But I wonder if she’d be more comfortable upstairs in one of the beds.”

Keith shook his head. “Maybe later. Now, I think she needs to be close to the fire and to us.”

“Yeah. I think you’re right.”

Just then, Thor, who’d been dozing in front of the fire, leapt to his feet and padded to the front door. He stood rigid, head up, nostrils quivering. He didn’t growl or make a sound—just listened. Andrea thought her heart would explode, it beat so hard. Keith was gnawing his lower lip but not saying a word, nor moving a muscle. Carrie had been turned to stone and stared, unblinking, at the far wall. But they spoke with their eyes, eyes that cried out in silent terror.

In the foyer, the grandfather clock’s ticking increased in volume. To Andrea, the ticking had been keeping time with the beating of her own heart, until now. Now, her heart was tripping out the beats and slamming against her chest. She wondered whether healthy seventeen-year-olds could have heart attacks.

They could if frightened to death.

Thor remained a frozen statue, ears up and every muscle in his lean body primed, ready for action. Andrea crawled to the chair cradling the catatonic Carrie. Keith pointed toward the front door. Andrea nodded, understanding. He was going to see what was out there. Or, at least, make an attempt.

Keith got down on hands and knees and inched his way to where the dog stood rooted to the floor. Thor didn’t act as though he even noticed the man beside him. The big German shepherd only listened and waited.

A sudden cry of acute anguish rang out, stabbing the incredible silence like a knife. Keith dropped flat to his stomach and lay there like he’d been shot. Andrea jumped a foot, and in doing so, snagged the blanket, covering Carrie. The poor girl didn’t flinch or utter a sound. She only pulled the afghan back up around her shoulders and stared through Andrea like she wasn’t even there.

The tortured cry came again. And again. Someone or some
thing
was in agony out there, and none of them could do a thing about it. With a quick glance at an unresponsive Carrie, Andrea scampered to Keith, who still lay flat on his stomach.

“Keith,” she whispered. “Keith. We have to
do
something. We can’t leave whatever it is out there to suffer.”

“Is it human?” was his muffled rejoinder.

“I don’t know. But what if it is? What if there’s someone out there with those…those
things
?”

“No one in his right
mind
would be out there.” Keith hissed back.

“You were. You and Carrie were out there. We were, too, for that matter, when we went to the Martins’ for supplies. Maybe it’s someone looking for help. Like you.”

With a loud release of air, he heaved himself up off the floor and crept to the large front window, hidden behind the drawn drapes. Pulling a corner aside, he peered out into the impenetrable ink that was their never-ending night. He stood without moving or making a sound for so long Andrea wondered if he’d been rendered speechless from sheer horror.

She crawled closer. “Keith?” Her voice was so soft she had to repeat it before he turned around. “Keith? Do you see anything?” she mouthed.

“No,” he whispered. “I can’t see any—”

Another shrill scream cut him off. Andrea cringed. Keith jerked. Thor’s ears twitched, but the rest of him remained motionless.

NINE

Just when Andrea thought she couldn’t take another second of electrified tension, a loud banging sounded on the other side of the door. “Help! Please. Someone.
Anyone!
Please.”

With one look at Andrea, Keith rushed to the door, shoved back the bolt and yanked open the door. A man, leaning heavily on a walking stick, fell into Keith’s arms. Keith grabbed the man before he hit the ground and dragged him into the house. Andrea, who’d jumped to her feet when Keith had opened the door, slammed it closed and double-locked it.

The man, dark-skinned, and somewhere in his seventies, was shivering from exposure…and undiluted horror. His lean face dripped with perspiration and mist and, to Andrea’s dismay, saliva. His gnarled hands shook so much the walking stick clattered to the floor. Keith helped the old man into the living room and got him onto the couch. Andrea didn’t wait for words of introduction or explanation, but hurried into the kitchen to make him a cup of hot tea.

So used to lighting the stove and getting everything ready in the dark, Andrea could’ve done the whole thing blindfolded. With only a flashlight or a single candle for light, she might as well have been blind.

By the time the tea was ready, Keith had the white-haired man in one of Uncle Mike’s clean shirts, his feet propped on the coffee table, and a blanket draped over his thin shoulders. Andrea had to hold the cup for his first few sips. The man’s shaking hands refused to hold the hot mug steady.

“Mmm, thank you. That is good. Thank you. Thank you,” he murmured.

After he drank half the cup, Andrea set it on the table, then sat on the floor facing the couch. Keith sat beside the old man.

“My name is Keith Reynolds. This is Andrea Gardner—this is her house, by the way—and that’s Carrie Vanderpelt, my neighbor.”

“Thank you. Thank you. My name is Eleazar. Eleazar Thomas. I am so grateful for your kindness.”

“Mr. Thomas—” Andrea began.

“Eleazar, please. Call me Eleazar.”

“Eleazar. Do you know what’s happened? Why we’re surrounded by this-this darkness? My family just disappeared. And my neighbors were killed. And we’ve heard terrible sounds outside and there are monstrous
things
—”

“Calm down, Andrea. One question at a time. The poor guy’s been through a lot already.” Keith waved a hand in her face.

“I’m sorry. I’m just so confused. And worried.”

The dark-skinned man offered a weary smile and leaned forward to pick up the mug in both hands. He took a long swallow, closed his eyes for a second, then looked at Andrea. “Zephaniah 1:15,” he whispered.

“Excuse me?”

“The book of Zehaniah, chapter one, verse fifteen.”

“What are you talking about?” Andrea shot a puzzled look toward Keith.

“He’s quoting a Bible verse, Andrea,” Keith explained.

“Oh. I’ve heard of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, but Zepha-
what
? Where’s
that
in the Bible?”

The old man smiled again. “It can be found at the end of the Old Testament.”

“Oh, okay.” Andrea didn’t know what to say. She wasn’t that familiar with the Bible.

Eleazar turned his eyes toward the pregnant girl’s huddled form in the recliner across from him. He tilted his woolly head in her direction. “The young woman seems quite ill. May I pray for her?”

Keith looked startled but nodded. The old man closed his eyes, raised his arms, and began speaking in low tones. “Heavenly Father, hold this child in the palm of your hand. Send your angels to comfort her. Rebuke the demons who torment her and cause her to doubt your infinite love and mercy. Protect the unborn child she carries in her body. Give her strength. Give her courage. Give her peace of mind. Flood her soul with grace and may the Holy Spirit light the way so she can find her way through this present darkness. Amen.”

Then Keith shot to his feet. “Thanks, Eleazar. You did that like a pro.” Keeping his back toward the old man, he grabbed a poker and made awkward jabs at the burning logs in the fireplace.

The old man chuckled. “Well, thank you, thank you. Yes, I guess you could call me a pro.” He cleared his throat. “I am an ordained minister—have been for the past forty-seven years. I am pastor at the Twin Oaks Baptist Church, about, oh, maybe two, three miles down the highway, past the intersection.”

“I know the place,” Andrea said. “Isn’t that the little white church with the double oak trees in the front? They’re incredible.”

“Yes, yes, that is the one. Those two oaks were planted side by side and when they grew they just fused together. People come out from as far as the city to take photographs of our trees. The trees’ entwining is so symbolic that I have married several couples under them.”

“Neat.” Andrea smiled at the man, but kept Keith in the corner of her eye. The younger man looked preoccupied and that disturbed her. She’d been leaning on him for moral support. If Keith lost confidence, then she would, too.

Andrea jumped when Keith whirled around, eyes shooting more sparks than the fire, and spat out, “Eleazar, sir. Can you shed any light—no pun intended—on this damned darkness and-and impossible mystery we seem to be wallowing in?”

The minister winced, closed his eyes, and clasped his gnarled hands together in unconscious prayer. After a full minute of silence, he looked at each of them in turn, coughed, and said, “No. I cannot explain this. I am as confused as you children are.”

“Damn. I was hoping you’d know something.”

Eleazor held up both thin hands. “Alas, I do not.”

Clamping his mouth shut, Keith fell into the nearest chair.

The old man smiled. “I can only tell you my experience.” He ran a tongue across his lips then continued. “I was at the church. I write my sermons there. I find my mind thinks more clearly when I am in the sanctuary. I had stayed later than usual. It came upon me so suddenly—so unexpectedly—that I was caught by surprise. All I know is that it became very dark. So dark, that I could no longer see what I was writing. I tried the lights. They no longer worked. I thought, perhaps, a fuse had blown. Then it occurred to me that we might be under a tornado warning that somehow I had missed. I remember going to the window and I-I saw—”

The old man stopped and lowered his white head to his chest. No one spoke or even moved for an eternity. Finally Keith prodded the man to continue. “Sir? Eleazar? What happened? What did you see?”

The elderly minister raised his head, a single tear rolling down his weathered cheek. He shook his head. “‘The Lord is my light and my salvation, whom shall I fear? The Lord is the strength of my life, of whom shall I be afraid? When the wicked came against me to eat up my flesh, my enemies and foes, they stumbled and fell—’”

Keith looked annoyed. “Sir,
please
. What happened?”

Eleazar thought for a moment, then said, “I saw nothing but incredible darkness. Darkness so thick that I feared a great fire must be burning nearby. I grabbed my walking stick—I need it when I walk the grounds—and went outside to see the source of the great inferno but saw no signs of a fire anywhere in the sky. There was only the darkness. And then-and then I heard it. The wailing.”

“Oh, God. We’ve been hearing that, too,” Andrea interjected. “Do you know what’s making it? Where it’s coming from?”

“Those who came to the wedding feast improperly attired,” he said. At their look of utter confusion, he added, “‘Then the king said to the servants,
Bind him hand and foot, take him away, and cast him into outer darkness, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.
’”