Darkness upon the Land

As the evening sun beamed a softening light over the town, Reuben remained crouched at his post on the flat roof of what remained of a two-story insurance office building. He was located approximately four blocks from the DuBois House, and diagonally across the street from the gas station. Much of his afternoon had been spent here, observing the activities of the sloppy guards at the filling station closest to the museum. They spent more time drawing from bottles, smoking various substances, and snorting or injecting yet other substances, as opposed to actually watching for any suspicious activity.

There had been no more than two guards throughout his observation, and rotations occurred haphazardly, usually anywhere between one or two hours. Their presence was merely to insure no resident tried to partake of the resource which actually had more uses than refueling the older cars that were still drivable.

The two current guards vacillated between hanging together while imbibing, and wandering away from each other to bask in stupor. They were drifting apart again, and Reuben positioned himself better as he loaded the slingshot and raised it to take aim.

Who would have dreamed that when his parents gave him his first slingshot thirteen years ago, he would one day use it to help seek liberation? The instrument had been a compromise for the youth rifle they couldn’t afford to get him. So during the intervening years before he could handle a full-sized firearm, he practiced and hunted and became very proficient with it. The slingshot’s novelty encouraged him to stay adept.

He had little concern about accidentally targeting a townsperson. A plan had been established before tonight’s effort to wear one identifying article used as a uniform to help the locals distinguish each other from the enemy. Whether it was a bandana or a scarf, the Esperanza inhabitants wore it like rolled a collar tied around their necks. It was a “fashion statement” the gangs didn’t use. The neckerchief Reuben sported was a red piece of fabric slightly faded from many washings before it came to him.

One thug wandered more toward his direction while the other swaggered to the other side of the building to vanish from his sight.

As he prepared to take aim, the prayer offered by Judah before the fateful chariot race in the classic movie Ben Hur came to mind. He altered it slightly. “Forgive me for what I’m about to do. And have mercy on all the souls.”

He sighted in his target for a skull shot, adjusted slightly, and released the pellet.

As Reuben suspected, the ruffian hesitated and began to turn his head when he heard the whine of the approaching projectile. Then for a couple of seconds the gangster stood stock still. When he collapsed as though somebody had pushed an off button, Reuben scrambled toward the stairwell that led down to the floor level of the building.

It would probably be a while before the other guard wandered back, and although he doubted the loser would react promptly – most likely finding a collapsed partner wouldn’t be a big surprise – he didn’t want to give the hoodlum any chance.

He sprinted to the gas station and hesitated for a second as he reached the nearest corner. His fellow combatants lurking in their hidden recesses could observe him, but there didn’t seem to be anyone else around. Carefully he crept along the wall while approaching the corner the second guard had gone around. As he peeked, he spied the gangster facing the wall and zipping up his pants. The thug barely had the chance to turn before Reuben took another head shot.

This one dropped to the ground with a gurgling gasp. Reuben pulled him into the building and returned to the first target in order to also drag him inside.

The light was growing dimmer as he approached the accesses to the reservoirs buried beneath his feet. The covers were simply set over the openings. He removed the lids from both units and gazed into the intimidating, inky darkness of the second tank.

The vats should be reasonably full. The lazy louts had only a dozen vehicles to refuel, and there were five gas stations in Esperanza. If they had been utilizing this one, it must be one of the locations that still had plenty of gasoline when the power went out.

Although Reuben knew it had been several hours since the last time somebody lowered a “bucket” into the tank, he still felt his heart begin pounding rapidly and hard as he removed the package of large, interlaced firecrackers from his pocket. Theoretically there should be no vapors to ignite before he could make his getaway, but that didn’t change the fact that most accidental burns treated in emergency rooms were caused by fires from gasoline. He flicked on the lighter and was poised to stop, drop and roll.

Reuben tossed the lit fireworks into the opening and immediately took off running at an adrenaline-induced speed.

When the explosion roared behind him, he couldn’t resist throwing his hands up over his head. The blast made the incident with the can of paint thinner sound like a burp, and he felt a burst of heat lick at his back. A hasty glance behind confirmed an eruption of flaming fuel had forced through the only point of no resistance. It cast a harsh light over the decrepit station that was pockmarked with several smaller fires. Flashbacks of his flight with Alexia across the bridge at Baton Rouge spurred him even more determinedly toward cover.

He bolted into the insurance building. On the second floor, hidden inside a battered desk, he retrieved the pistol they brought when they sneaked into town this morning. As much as he would have preferred a rifle, the citizen-soldiers were relegated to what firearms were available until the children and more weapons could be emancipated from the DuBois House. He dashed back to the roof.

Random, distant shouting became more frequent and louder as individuals began to appear from darkening corridors all around the gas station. Some bothered to run and others were in no hurry, but all kept a respectful distance from the conflagration. They expressed various reactions which were probably dependent on what degree they were stoned or drunk. Reuben took a bead on a particularly greasy goon standing on the street below him, and waited.

An eternity seemed to pass as he adjusted his aim every time the hoodlum drifted in another direction. These ruffians were completely unaware that many of them were in somebody’s crosshairs at the moment. But the first shots of this battle had to come from the museum four blocks away.

Gerald and another armed fighter were supposed to lead Father Nick and a couple of women into the historic home once the gas station explosion drew out enough inhabitants. Then they could rescue the children, lock down their target, and distribute the cached weapons to more soldiers in waiting. The shooting might begin as they took down whatever jailers remained to guard the children, or it might actually be delayed until more citizens were armed and began gunning down any gangsters near the domicile. Either way, the sharpshooters nearest the gas station were under orders not to begin firing until they could hear the shots beginning from the DuBois House.

What was taking so long? If he were to check a watch, it would probably show that no more than two or three minutes had passed. But every second that slipped away was another second closer to the crowd that had gathered around the station to disperse. Every second might draw the children closer to danger if the profligate inhabitants started to return. He had to be patient….

The other tank exploded and Reuben nearly dropped the pistol.

As a second fiery column spewed into the sky, a plentitude of words with only four letters erupted as vociferously. The hooligans backed even farther from the spectacle, but at least their attentions were focused on the distraction, and a few more of them seemed to drift in from the streets.

How long would this light show entertain them? Another eternity seemed to pass as he tried to keep the pistol trained on his target. Was Gerald’s plan working? Were they going to be able to get into the house this time? Or had something gone wrong? What if the thugs carried out their threats upon the children?

Multiple shots starting echoing up the street like waves crashing down from a parted sea. Reuben squeezed the trigger the same instant he heard other reports crack in his vicinity.

When Alexia heard the first explosion, she caught her breath as both concern for Reuben’s safety and relief for the youngsters’ rescue flooded through her. She was in a home located about a block from the DuBois House, and three other women and two men stood ready with her. Although none of them had formal medical training, they all had some degree of knowledge about providing first aid, and were prepared with what supplies could be scraped together until more could be procured.

One woman, Natalie the blonde who was around Mѐre’s age and wore a pink scarf, Alexia knew already from church. Everybody else needed introductions.

Nobody could resist peeking out one of the windows that faced the doomed gas station. It wasn’t yet sunset, and the black smoke that billowed up from the vigorous flames seemed to darken the sky even sooner.

Although only a few people passed by on the street to better view the exhibition, they were the “right people.” None wore identifying neckbands like the blue bandana tied around her throat. Please, please keep Reuben safe. Let this attempt be successful at drawing out the majority of invaders in the museum. See to it that the children are completely rescued. And give protection to the residents of Esperanza as they fought for both life and liberty.

She watched one hoodlum swagger by with a can held in one raised hand as though toasting the distant inferno. A surreal sensation rippled through her as she contemplated she was probably seeing these people in the last minutes of their lives. They were dangerous, they were vicious, and they brutalized or killed others with no regard, but they were still people.

If only they had made different choices in the past. If only they had enough future ahead of them to change their ways. But if the battle plans unfolded as hoped for, they would soon be out of what time had been given them.

They were horrid, barbaric people, but they were about to die, and Alexia couldn’t take joy in that. Even though they had in essence volunteered for what would happen next, she supposed there was one prayer left she could offer: Have mercy on their souls.

Because she was already at the window, she witnessed the second explosion send a billowing pillar of flame toward the sky.

“No way.” Baron, a tall young man in his early twenties, never took his eyes off the spectacle as he stood at the other side of the window. His light brown hair was neatly trimmed, and he wore stained jeans, a dingy tee shirt, and an orange neckband. “How did he light off another one?”

“It’s probably because of the heat from the first tank.” If not for her experience at Baton Rouge, she might not have assumed that so quickly. “Maybe that will help to draw more of them in or keep them around longer.”

“It’s kind of weird.” He continued to gaze out the pane. “On one hand I’m almost glad the fight is about to begin. Waiting for it is somehow worse. But on the other hand we may be about to find out what worse really is.”

“I know what you mean.”

“Do you think one guard on this building is enough?”

“It will have to be for now.”

They were one of three “hospitals” stationed throughout the town, and each had a sentry posted to help protect their occupants. Although this post was closest to the initial fighting, they might experience the fewest casualties, which was why this location was considered the safest for her to be.

The warriors would be getting the drop on their opponents in the immediate vicinity, but as the fighting spread it was expected they would meet more resistance from surviving gang members that would dig in. After this area was secured, it was also probable some of the children would need to come here for medical attention.

She scanned the dining room they all stood in. The table had been left in place for wounded to stretch out on, while the chairs had all been removed and placed in a semicircle with other seating in the living room for those who needed to wait or rest. A box of medical supplies and a stack of linens sat beneath the table.

Those poor youngsters. Hopefully their terror would end soon, and Father Nick and the other two counselors could begin ministering to them, which would be an even greater challenge in the heat of battle.

Alexia hoped it was her imagination that the wait Baron had mentioned finally ending was dragging on instead. What was happening? Did the distraction work?

She thought she heard three or four rifle cracks in the distance. Just a couple of seconds later more gunfire began proliferating.

The battle really had begun.

The bangs and cracks and booms of various firearms lasted for several seconds and then quieted to a few shots, kind of like the end cycle of popping corn. Then there was lots of scattered shouting. The streets were growing darker, and she spied a flashpoint from the next gunshot she heard. Hopefully that wasn’t return fire.

After a few minutes of lull, gunfire began again. This time it was spread out and more sporadic.

“Think that’s a good sign?” Baron asked.

“I hope so. I hope it means they got the kids to safety and were able to pass out the other weapons and ammo.”

Reuben’s combat duty was also supposed to be considered fulfilled after he blew up the gas station and participated in the initial ambush. After that he was supposed to return to her location, and help with the wounded while insuring her safety. Hopefully he would arrive in the next fifteen to twenty minutes.

Their first injury was a young woman brought in by a couple of comrades because she had been shot in the thigh. Her partners returned to the fighting, taking her borrowed shotgun with them because the residents still needed all the firepower they could obtain, but they confirmed the rescue had been successful and Esperanza’s manpower was now better armed.

About the time the team packed her wound and got the bleeding under control, two more combatants entered the house. One was an older man who was probably seventy, who with the arm that hadn’t been shot was helping his middle-aged associate stumble into the building.

The other fellow had a chest wound, and tension rose quickly among the caretakers. The veterinary assistant, pharmacist and clinician tended to him on the table while Natalie the dental hygienist, Baron the dietitian, and Alexia who was just passing through helped the elder man.

The senior soldier insisted the wounded woman should lie on the couch near the front door so she could keep her leg extended, and sat in an easy chair instead on the other side of the room. It was also closer to the dining room where the medical supplies were. His firearm, a 30.06, was his personal weapon, so they set it in a nearby corner. They had removed his shirt and were still cleaning the wound when Father Nick arrived.

He had a little girl who couldn’t have been more than two years old clutched against his hip with one arm, and his other hand grasped that of a boy who was probably four.

Alexia immediately strode over to him, and both children were so filthy she couldn’t immediately identify their injuries.

“Are there any more kids coming?” She asked as she held out her hands to take the younger waif from him.

“Luckily, no.” His attention shifted to the sniffling girl, and he gave her a gentle smile. An appropriately white handkerchief was tied around his neck. “Okay, Cassie, you can go with Alexia now. She’s going to help.”

“What does she need?” The waif almost felt like a doll to her as she gently took the child from him. The toddler neither resisted nor accepted the exchange.

“A bath and clean bandages. Cassie is the youngest of the bunch, and it looks like they’d cut her with a knife in several places. Used her as an example to the others. Some of the cuts are starting to look infected.”

Why, the sons of – she had to choke back the beginnings of a minor outburst.

The priest continued. “Lyle here is her big brother. He almost went ballistic when I started bringing her over. Didn’t want her to leave the building without him. So he’s come along to be sure where she is.”

“Poor baby.” She absently stroked the girl’s crusty hair. “We should have enough water I can sponge her off in the tub. I’m just relieved there aren’t more kids with injuries.”

“Most of the physical injuries are minor enough for us to handle there. It’s the psychological damage that’s going to be harder to heal. I can stay around and keep Lyle company while you take care of her, then I’d better take both of them back.” He glanced at the two patients already in the room. “There could be things happening here that don’t need to be added to what they’ve already seen.”

“I’ll be as quick as I can. You haven’t heard anything about Rube, have you?”

“He hasn’t returned to the museum, but somebody did confirm he didn’t get blown up with the gas station. I’m sure he’s just out there somewhere.”

She wished he were here so that she could quip to him, “Yeah, you’re out there, all right.” At least she would know he was safe and not lying in one of the medic stations … or worse.

Alexia thanked the priest and walked around the dining room chairs that blocked the entrance of the hallway. She was actually glad the house was a bit stuffy from the lingering heat of the day. There was only room temperature water to cleanse the patients or their wounds.

Bathing Cassie turned out to be a more difficult task than she’d anticipated, and not because the child acted up. The little girl was still unresponsive except for her sniffling. But the lacerations Alexia found all up and down her legs, arms, and torso bespoke of the cruelty inflicted upon this helpless person. The flicker of amnesty she’d felt earlier toward these cretins evaporated. Frank had been wrong. These brutes were worse than animals. They were evil incarnate.

Anger at the kidnappers and worry about Reuben simmered in both her mind and soul as she applied antibiotic cream to the cuts and got them bandaged, but she kept a cheerful countenance for the child’s sake. She also offered her some of the pemmican, and it was heartwarming to see her eat. Still, it might be a good idea to step into a quiet room for a few minutes after returning Cassie to Father Nick. She needed some time to settle down, or the next upsetting occasion could prove to be ... problematic.

She wished Reuben would get here.

Alexia dressed the little girl in a yellow, button-down shirt from the stack of spare clothes that had been set aside to replace garments inevitably ruined from seeping body fluids. It was actually sized for an older child, but managed to work like a dress on the tyke. She grabbed another tee shirt that looked like it could fit their elderly patient, and then returned to the living room.

Baron was gone, but Natalie had finished binding the gentleman’s wound and was sitting in the chair beside his. Alexia briefly interrupted their conversation to hand him the shirt, then finished her trek around the chairs to approach the couch.

The young woman was sitting up slightly and talking with Father Nick, who sat on the floor with the boy huddled in his lap.

“We’re back,” she announced as she continued her pseudo-levity.

“Ah, Alexia, you’re a miracle worker.” The priest smiled at the boy. “There you go, Lyle. Your sister’s starting to get better already.”

As he got to his feet and took Cassie back into his arms, a shot suddenly echoed from the back of the house. Everybody in the room froze and looked into the hallway. If that had been their guard, why was there only one shot? And who did the shooting?

A thunder of footfalls charged up the dark corridor, but it wasn’t their sentry running in to give news or warning. The gunman who reached the living room was wearing a brown neckband, but he threw the rifle back up to his shoulder as he stormed to a stop behind the row of chairs.