SHADOW PEOPLE:
Quickening of the Wicked
by
Stacy Stephens and Cindy Jackson
Smashwords Edition
Copyright © 2009 by Stacy Stephens and Cindy Jackson
All rights reserved.
All texts contained within this document are a work
of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events, locales
or persons (living or dead), is entirely coincidental.
Note that this work contains scenes of violence
and graphic descriptions not appropriate for
reading by children.
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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This book is available in print through Amazon.com.
What customers are saying about
Shadow People: Quickening of the Wicked:
"You won't be able to put it down. Every page promises excitement and adventure. Every character inspires empathy, and invites the reader to join them on their quest."
- Nick A.
"I couldn't put this book down! The authors have created a chilling horror story that brought me goosebumps. I cared about the main characters and couldn't wait to read what would happen next. Excellent plotting. This book contains hair-raising experiences mixed with hope and a dash of spirituality. Yes, this book is dark and a few times even brought tears to my eyes. But it is a horror story and it's a great addition to this genre. This book begs for a sequel."
- Jeanne J.
"The story is excellent. I didn't want to put it down once I started reading. The story has an intriguing and unusual, origination story for the 'shadows' and zombies that quickly over run humanity. Be warned, there is some graphic zombie violence, yet there are also some uplifting moments of humanity while following the intertwining stories of the three main characters. It has the feel and pace of a horror story, yet still manages to maintain a sense of...spirituality...for want of a better word."
- Traci D.
"Die-hard zombie fans will not be disappointed with this book. There is enough gore for even Peter Jackson (a la Dead Alive), but still substance to make for an excellent read."
- Lynn C.
Darkness falls over everyone,
Casting its shadows,
Casting its blackness,
Bringing all of its horrors,
And all of its savage nightmares.
You can’t stop it,
You can’t hide from it,
All you can do is face it.
“But the wicked shall perish, and the enemies of the Lord shall be as the fat of lambs: they shall consume;
into smoke shall they consume away.”
- Psalm 37:20 (King James Bible)
Prologue
Solidity of Sorrow
Stuck cold and alone, caught and held under,
Hysterical numbness born of an austere world
Haunts you in the shadows of the rising darkness.
Still you look up, not wanting this,
Crying out for the fluorescent shades of day.
The Ancient Ones recognized the significance of the shadowing that had befallen the city. They had long known that a world of violence and disease, pain and poverty, greed and apathy could not stand everlasting. The Great Ones, who called themselves Victory, conceded the massive shadow as an entity of suffering and sorrow. It was the form of misery. It was the substance of all negativity and fear. And the darkness of woe was evolving.
Broadcast around the globe were media images of the shadow-plagued city. Scientists were at a loss to explain the origin of the phenomena. The city at midday was so dark that the streetlights in more advanced countries would have blinked on. Still suffering from the destruction of its infrastructure, however, this city did not have that luxury.
The people of Monrovia were witness to the sun blazing in the sky but could not see its evidence of brilliance around them. Most of the world populace gave the anomaly no more than a passing thought, a shrug of indifference, feeling distant and far removed from the plight of the Monrovians. There was not one earthly mortal that linked the mysterious and menacing shadow with the horrifying existence of the urban inhabitants. Infested with violence, poverty, and disease, present day Monrovia was listed as one of the most dangerous places on Earth and the suffering that citizens endured was agony beyond all description.
Thereby, the blackness descended.
The time of reckoning had come.
The Alpha Rising
Sabay led the cluster of rag-tag children down the filthy alleyway. They followed the shockingly thin young man unquestioningly as he was the oldest of the group of fifteen orphans. He didn’t need to call to them, he didn’t need to encourage them to keep up, or tell them not to stray because they knew he was all they had, and that he was their only hope for survival.
For the first time in his life, Sabay didn’t know where to go. He felt disoriented. Why is it so dark? I see the sun in the sky. Why is it so dark? He wasn’t even sure how much of the day had passed since they woke that morning after sleeping huddled together in the dirt under the ruined stairs of what was probably once an apartment complex. He was usually very good at discerning the time of day.
As they walked past the ruins of Monrovia’s crumbling buildings, some burnt, some littered in bullet holes, Sarrah, who walked a step behind Sabay, disrupted his questioning thoughts, “Alida doesn’t look good.”
Sabay, with long black hair that stuck straight out, the tips turned orange, threw a quick glance over his shoulder to look at Sarrah. Her concerned face looked older than nine, cradling her two-year-old sister in her arms like an infant. The baby shivered violently. Alida coughed weakly and heaved, wanting to vomit, but there was nothing in her stomach to bring up.
Sabay knew he should say something to Sarrah to ease her fears but he didn’t know what he could do to help her anymore. He was well aware of the symptoms of malaria. He had watched helplessly as his own mother suffered horribly and died from it when he was ten. He knew Alida didn’t have much time left.
“Let’s try to find her some water,” was all he could manage to say, although the search for food and water was really all their lives consisted of.
With a purpose and direction to get his mind off the strange darkness, Sabay turned the corner and headed to a more populated part of the city. On the streets where theft, sexual assault, and murder were constant, people wandered day and night with nothing to do. Only fifteen percent of the population was employed and the average wage was only twenty dollars a month. Ten thousand orphaned, homeless, and utterly neglected children roamed the streets, their parents lost to war and disease.
Twelve-year-old Belloh carried her younger brother on her back. As they came to Sabay’s side, Jedhudi grinned from ear to ear while he bounced along with his sister.
“Sabay,” Belloh asked, her tone carrying a quality of unease.
“What is it Belloh?” Sabay responded with a sigh, worried that she would present him with another problem.
“Do you think Alida is going to be okay? I mean, you don’t think she’s going to…to die, do you?” Bellow asked again, as her voice trembled.
He quickly shot her a displeased look. He didn’t want to talk about Alida with Sarrah close enough to hear their conversation. Death was a part of their everyday life. Death was everywhere, but he would not—could not—talk about it, nor resign to it for anyone he loved.
“Let’s just get her some water and maybe see if we can get her a little food and hope she can hold it down,” he told her.
“Why is it so dark?” Belloh asked more to herself than Sabay. He didn’t answer her anyway.
Belloh said nothing more but continued to keep pace at his side.
As they approached a busy intersection, they saw people everywhere trying to sell anything they had. Two little girls stood next to a water cart manned by three older boys. In each of their hands they held small plastic bags of water that they offered to sell to all who passed by. Sabay approached the water cart as the children formed a tight group behind and around him. He begged the older boys for a small bag of water, pointing to the sick child in Sarrah’s arms as he did. All three boys shook their heads and Sarrah cried.
The other children pleaded in unison, “Please, please!"
Leaning against the cart, one of the older boys told Sabay, “Go get something to trade for the water and then you can have some.”
The children continued down the street, hands outstretched, begging to every passerby, slapping the windows of the taxicabs, beseeching, “Please, do you have any food? We’re very hungry. Please, do you have any water for us? Can you give us some money? Please!”
Some of the people turned away, not wanting to gaze into the haunted eyes of the starving. They didn’t even have enough for themselves let alone fifteen miserable children. Others, who continually looked around, confused and afraid, pondering the reason for the day so dark while the sun shone bright, did not even notice the heartrending pleas of the street urchins.
Still, others yelled at them, “Go on! Get away! Move along! Leave me alone!”
One man, after screaming, “I said get outta here!” pushed little Rebekah so forcefully that she fell to the ground, skinning her knees. She sobbed loudly as the other children gathered around and tried to comfort her.
“You’re all just a waste of life! Someone oughta exterminate all you maggots!” the cruel man continued to shout.
Some of the other children started to join in Rebekah’s pitiful sobs. Sabay ushered the group away from the man and sat them down against the side of a ruined building. Disheartened, he also sat with his back against the wall and tried to think of what to do next.
“Hey, what’s going on? Why are you all crying?”
In harmony, all fifteen heads turned to the left to see who was behind the caring voice.
“Joao!” Sabay exclaimed. He couldn’t have been happier to see his old friend right at that moment.
Sabay estimated that Joao was probably about ten years older than he was but even Joao didn’t know the day or year of his own birth.
“Joao!” all the children cried out as they quickly forgot the reasons for their tears. Even little Rebekah, in her threadbare, pink dress with tiny yellow flowers that was two sizes too small for her, was diverted from the pain of her bleeding knees.
“How are all my buddies? Are you all right? Did something happen?” Joao asked the group as they all rushed to hug him and grasp his hands, while the littlest clung to his legs. Only Belloh hung back. It was hard for her to hang around Joao. He reminded Belloh of her older brother.
The shattered and battle fatigued city was now host to former child soldiers who plagued the streets, many addicted to drugs or involved in prostitution as by-products of the civil war nicknamed ‘Octopus’. Eight years previously, a group of government militiamen had brutally abducted Belloh’s brother. With beatings, brainwashing, and torture they systematically altered him into a savage warrior. Belloh had seen her brother Joseph a few times, roaming the streets with others of his kind, all of them angry and defiant without the leadership that had created them. She believed he had recognized her but he never let on. He broke her heart.
“We’re looking for food,” Johnson, who was grubby, frail, and sickly, said dryly.
“And we need water for Alida,” Sarrah spoke with sadness, never taking her eyes off the child in her arms.
Joao looked down at all the little children. A look of misery and concern crossed his face and his lips tightened. He reached deep into his pants pocket and pulled out a handful of kola nuts.
“Here,” Joao said and he grabbed Sabay’s hand and poured the beans into his palm, “Don’t worry. I’ll be right back.”
Joao quickly jogged across the street, dodging in and out of the way of the fast moving vehicles and buses, and headed toward the water cart.
Sabay handed a nut to each of the children, counseling each one to chew slowly but there weren’t enough. There were only twelve kola nuts. He wouldn’t have one and, of course, Alida wouldn’t be able to chew one. Johnson was the only child left with his hand extended and he moaned.
Kimmie, only six, dressed in nothing more than shorts, and showing signs of extreme malnutrition, offered his kola nut to Johnson.
“Here Johnson, you can have mine. It’s okay. I’ll be all right,” Kimmie's voice was small and sweet.
Johnson took the nut. He looked at it for a moment, turning it between his fingers, and then bit it in half. He kept one-half in his mouth, handed the other half back to Kimmie and said, “Thank you.”
Sabay looked hard across and down the street, trying to make out what was going on between Joao and the water cart boys. All around, the dark, sinister shadow made it difficult to see far.
Finally, he could make out Joao’s form returning to them. He saw that he held a small bag of water.
All the children stood motionless. Only their eyes moved as they watched Joao approaching.
Joao handed Sabay the water and told him, “Listen, I’m going to go find more food. I need you to stay right here and wait for me, got it?”
The little ones jumped up and down and clapped their hands. Kimmie and Johnson looked at each other and smiled. Sabay, Belloh, and Sarrah thanked him several times and told him they would wait for his return.
After they had watched Joao walk briskly away and disappear around the corner, they carefully passed around the little bag of water, each taking small sips in turn, very careful not to spill a drop. Amazingly, not one child greedily took more than their share. Their remarkable love for each other always outweighed their thirst or hunger.
Finally, after Sabay took the tiniest sip, he dipped his fingers into what remained of the water and let a few drops fall into Alida’s mouth. She licked her lips but did not open her eyes. There was only a small amount of water left in the bag so Sabay closed it tightly and handed it to Sarrah.
The children, with their thirst and a small fragment of their hunger abated for the moment, resumed their positions against the wall and waited. Even the youngest were uncharacteristically quiet and still. It was only mid-afternoon, but already the people on the street had begun to scurry to their shelters for the night. It appeared that an uneasy panic was spreading. Parents were pulling their children along frantically. Ten or twelve people at a time were trying to pack into one taxi. Those physically disadvantaged helped each other along as they attempted to get to a bus stop, wanting nothing more than to get off the streets. Everyone took note of the fact that the shadow was thickening. It had become tangent. Its appearance was now like a black fog and it reeked of decayed flesh and congealed blood.
An hour passed and still the children did not stir. They could no longer see anything directly across the street. The smell had become pungent. The children looked at each other while pinching their nostrils.
Suddenly gripped with fear, Sabay could not settle on a course of action. He didn’t want to miss the chance of more food, especially since he hadn’t had any that day but he also knew he could not allow the children to be witness to nor victims of, the violence of the night.
As the minutes ticked by and the city darkened still, Sabay noticed that dark thunder clouds, common to the region for that time of year, had began to roll across the sky. He knew that they couldn’t wait any longer. They had to get moving. He was about to announce to the others that they should find a place to stay for the night, perhaps in the small shack of a school in a nearby alley because Joao might think to look for them there, but the sudden and alarming screams and shouts interrupted him. All the children slowly rose to their feet, bewildered and afraid. Sabay’s heart beat so furiously he could hear its pounding in his head.
Joao came around the corner fast. He dodged each of the children as he screamed at them, “Get out of here!”
Sabay cried out, “Joao!” just as six figures also flew wide around the corner. Some were dressed in army fatigues. Some were armed with bats, others with boards, and one with an M-16 assault rifle.
The children stood transfixed and watched in horror as Joao ran into a woman that had suddenly stepped out of a doorway. He knocked her sideways and her head slammed onto the cracked cement. Running at full-speed, Joao was unable to keep his balance and he fell on top of her. In that one catastrophic moment, the gang was on him. All six of them grabbed hold of Joao. They pulled him by his shirt, his arms, legs, and dragged him to the side of the street.
Belloh gasped. She recognized one of them as Joseph, her brother.
“You think you can steal from us, motherfucker!” Joseph screamed as he kicked Joao violently in the ribs, breaking three.
It seemed Joao wanted to speak, to defend himself but before he could, he felt the butt of a rifle smash his teeth.
In a drug-induced frenzy, they struck him with the bats and boards. They kicked and punched all over his entire body.
Joseph continued to yell, “You stupid son-of-bitch, I’ll show you—you piece of shit! How do you like this, fucker?” and he stomped on his arm so hard Joao's bones cracked loudly.
They laughed wildly now, like madmen. Joao’s screams gurgled as his throat filled with blood and grew weaker. Sabay and the children, paralyzed by shock and terror, hardly recognized Joao anymore.
Joseph pushed one of the others and ordered him, “Go get it, now!”
The other turned and quickly disappeared back around the corner.
The rest continued to kick and punch poor Joao. He wasn’t screaming anymore. Sabay thought that perhaps Joao had mercifully lost consciousness.
To Sabay’s horror, he saw the other return with a large gasoline can. Joseph yanked the can out of his hands and started to pour it over Joao’s body. As the gas flowed into Joao’s fresh wounds he started to convulse.
Joseph dug into his pocket and pulled out a shinny Zippo lighter.
“No, please Joseph, please don’t!” Belloh cried out as she took a few steps in Joseph’s direction.
As all six of the brutal young men turned to look in the direction of the children, Sabay grabbed a hold of her arm and whispered, “Don’t Belloh.”
One of the ex-soldiers smiled and turned to Joseph, “They know him.”
“Yeah, I think they were in on it, probably put him up to it,” another asserted.
“You’re next!” Joseph snarled, looking directly at the children as a sick grin spread across his face. Then he flicked the lighter bringing the flame to life, and dropped it onto Joao’s wretched, gasoline soaked body. In one abrupt flash of fire, he began to burn. Joao was suddenly conscious again. His piercing, blood-curdling screams echoed through the shrouded city street as he attempted to thrash about his broken body.
Despite the horror that played before his eyes, Sabay’s mind began to race. He knew it was now or never. While the gang was sadistically preoccupied with the gruesome death of his friend, he commanded the shrieking children, “Let’s go. We need to get out of here. Run!”
He gathered the skeleton-like body of Alex, the youngest of the boys, into his arms while Belloh hoisted Jedhudi onto her back. Sabay knew they were going to have to move very fast to put as much distance between them and the vengeful group. He ran ahead of the children knowing that they would follow. Sarrah, with Alida held tight to her chest, along with Belloh and her little brother trailed them all to insure than none fell down or fell behind.
They could hear the gang hollering manically. Joao’s screams slowly died as he did. The boy with the M-16 fired several rounds into the air as they celebrated a life snuffed out.
At the sound of the shots, thinking the band of murderers was firing at them, the children wailed with mouths opened wide but continued to run as fast as their little legs would allow.
As Sabay turned corners left and right and skirted down alleyways he sensed the children, exhausted and weak, had begun to slow their pace. He felt confident that Joseph and his friends had not immediately followed them. However, he also knew, without a doubt, that the band of killers would not forget. They would search them out. They would hunt them down, and kill them all.
It was completely dark out now and Sabay could hardly see a few feet in front of him. Even the lightning could not pierce the heavy blackness. In between peals of thunder, he could hear Alida crying hoarsely. The rain abruptly started to pour down, instantly soaking them, and Sabay knew he had to find shelter for them quickly. It had to be a place that Joseph and his followers would not immediately think of, if at all.
Sabay’s mind was confused and racked with guilt. Oh God, why did I agree to let Joao find us food? Why? I knew he would steal it, but why did he have to steal from the most dangerous people in the city? They tortured and killed him because he was just trying to help us get food! It’s all my fault! And why did the children have to see such a horrible thing? Why?
“Can we stop now? Please? Just for a minute,” Sarrah yelled out in between heavy breaths. Alida was still crying.
They all came to an immediate halt. Sabay turned to face them. Several of the children flopped down on the ground. As Sarrah tried to pull the tattered cloth wrapped around Alida up over the top of her head in an attempt to give the baby more protection from the pounding rain, she pleaded with Sabay, “What are we going to do? Where are we going to go?”
“Why are we running Sabay?” Carey asked. Her stomach was bloated and most of her hair was gone.
“Yeah, how come?” Georgetta, naked and all her hair orange, joined in.
Sabay sighed. He hadn’t realized that not all of them understood. He didn’t want to talk about it. If they didn’t know already, he didn’t want to be the one to cause them more fear and he didn’t want to talk about Joao.
He swallowed hard and forced himself to speak anyway, “Those men, those bad men that hurt Joao are coming after us. They want to hurt us too.”
“Oh no…what are we going to do? I’m afraid…Sabay, what should we do?” All the children cried out. Some groaned, some whimpered, all shivered fiercely partially from the rain, mostly with fright.
“We are going to find a place to stay. A hiding place.”
Sabay’s mind unexpectedly flashed on the perfect place. A building he had gone to with his mother many years ago in search of food and medical attention from the makeshift clinic set up in the circular driveway. He didn’t know the original purpose of the building, nor its name but he remembered a feeling of awe when he first laid eyes upon its grandeur. He remembered families gathered around charcoal fires that burned in the corners of the large rooms.
“Come on. I know where to go,” he told them with confidence.
He no longer felt the need to run. It was going to be a long walk in itself but in the dark and heavy downpour, it would be difficult indeed. He knew the children would need to pace themselves and conserve what little energy they had left.
In a tight bunch, they plodded along, all following their fearless leader. No one spoke. The only sounds were Alida’s raspy cries. Occasionally, other people looking as anxious as they felt, would cross their path and startle them. The adrenaline brought on by fear of who the strangers were helped the children along.
After trudging along for an hour, the last half without running across anymore of the city’s residents, Sabay knew they were getting close. Despite the fact that Sabay had always had a good sense of direction and a very good memory, he was still amazed that he had found the place so easily in the dark.
As they approached the long driveway Sabay sensed the darkness was even heavier there and the smell so bad he could taste it. He could not even make out an outline of the building against the sky.
Right before they reached what Sabay thought would be the bottom of the marble stairs that led to the entrance of the great structure, he ran smack into the bumper of an older Mercedes-Benz sedan. He was surprised as he noticed there was another just like it parked next to it. Before Sabay’s mind could question the reason for the parked cars, he heard hushed and mumbled voices coming from the top of the stairs.
Unbeknownst to Sabay, the men were part of an order of Freemasons. Members of this order had evicted the eight thousand squatters a few years previously in hopes of restoring their temple known as The Ancient, Free, and Accepted Masonic Lodge. The stunning palace, now decrepit and burnt out, had been the scene of many battles during the civil war. The majority of Liberia’s high-ranking officials were Masons and it was widely believed that matters of state were handled within the lodge. However, most mainstream Grand Lodges did not regard members of the Liberian Order as ‘regular’ Masons.
Sabay quickly steered the children away from the cars and towards a low cement wall. He motioned with his hands and his body that they should crouch down. He held his finger to his lips to signal that they should stay quiet. Flooded with relief he found that Alida wasn’t crying anymore. He was certain whoever was descending the stairs would not see them in the gloom even so close to their cars. As the voices grew nearer he saw that there were three men and he saw this only because they each held small flashlights. One of the men jumped into his car and started the engine even before the other two had reached the car closest to the children. Sabay thought they looked as if they had just seen a ghost.
As the two men hustled to unlock the doors and climb into their car, one of them dropped his penlight to the ground. It bounced and rolled so close to Sabay’s feet that he was sure the man would find them when he went to retrieve it. Spooked by something Sabay could not imagine, the man hopped in the car and slammed the door. He did not concern himself with the flashlight. The second car followed the first around the driveway, tires skidding as mud flew high and wide in the wake of their hasty exit.
Sabay reached out and took hold of the small flashlight. It was such a small thing, but for the first time since his mother had died, going where he could not follow, he felt that his luck was finally turning. He thought that maybe there really were angels watching over him as his mother had told him right before she had closed her eyes forever, leaving him all alone.
It started to rain harder now and it stung the skin on their faces and bodies like thousands of needles. The rumbling of thunder was relentless and deafening, while lightening flashed continuously across the sky.
Still holding Alex, Sabay stood and called to the children, “Let’s get inside. Hurry.”
“I don’t think I can go in there,” Belloh said. It was the first time she spoke since she had cried out to her brother for mercy.
“I don’t think I want to go in there either, Sabay. I’m afraid,” Ellen agreed.
“It’ll be all right. We have to get out of the storm. We need to take care of Alida. Come on, it’ll be okay,” Sabay reassured them.
They slowly climbed the stairs as Sabay ran the light across the large arched, glassless windows.
The door stood wide open. Still holding Alex with one arm, Sabay stepped through the threshold and scanned the entrance with the thin beam of light. As he cautiously stepped further in, his light jerked around the large meeting room as his hand shook nervously. He inspected the marble floor and the ruined, winding staircases. He briefly illuminated what he now remembered as the entrance to the basement. He recalled listening, with a disturbing fascination, to some older children who were retelling the story of what was in the basement those long years ago when his mother still stood at his side. They had said that evil lived down there. They claimed that some worshipped Satan there and that the spirits of those sacrificed to the prince of darkness haunted the temple. They claimed there was a huge altar crusted with dried blood and on the white marble floor was a huge black circle with a five-pointed star inside. Over the star was the head of the horned god, Lucifer. Sabay didn’t know if it was true but he felt now was not the time to think about such things, let alone investigate the rumors.
He continued to sweep the room with light and found an area in the corner that looked dry. There were some rags and several crates stacked nearby. He figured that would be the best place for them to hunker down for the long night ahead of them.
The children felt good to be out of the rain but the odor inside was worse than outside. It carried the same overpowering stench of death but now it merged with the reek of human excrement.
He led the children to the corner and while he lit the area, he kicked around the rags to make sure they would be all right to sit or lay on. He didn’t detect anything other than grime. He sat down cross-legged and set Alex at his side. The other children followed his example and sat close together.
Using the flashlight, Sabay let his gaze fall on each of the children’s faces. They looked so fragile and worn-out. As he lit upon Sarrah’s face, he thought she didn’t look right. She wasn’t looking down at Alida in her usual, motherly fashion and it looked like she was holding the baby too tightly. Her eyes were vacant and tears silently streamed down her cheeks.
Still gripping the flashlight, Sabay crawled over to her.
He spoke so gently, “Let me see Alida, Sarrah.”
When she didn’t respond, he attempted to take the child from her arms. She tightened her grip.
“Please, Sarrah let me see her. Let me check if she’s all right,” he pleaded.
Sarrah shook her head.
As he pried her fingers, hands, and arms away from the child, he told her, “It’s okay, Sarrah. It’s okay—you can let her go. I’m going to take care of her for you now. It’ll be all right.”
As soon as he had a hold of Alida, he knew he held dead weight. Sarrah began to weep aloud and her body shook with anguish.
Sabay wasn’t sure what to do. He felt a huge lump form in his throat. He knew he couldn’t cry now, he had to be strong for the others.
He stood and walked to the crates. He held the body of the baby girl and the flashlight in one arm, and picked up a crate and shook out the debris with the other. He gently laid her in the crate and covered her face with the dirty rag she was wrapped in.
Belloh was the first to speak.
“Oh no Sabay, don’t tell us Alida is...” She couldn’t finish.
“What happened, Sabay? What’s wrong? Is Alida okay?” Johnson questioned.
Sabay spoke in a whisper, “It’s all right. Alida is in heaven now with Jesus and her mommy. She’s okay now. Don’t worry. Don’t feel bad. She’s better now.”
Alex, who rarely spoke more than a word or two for days at a time, said, “I wanna go to heaven. I wanna see my mommy and Jesus, too.”
“Me too…me too,” the children agreed.
They all started to whimper and laid their heads down, resting their arms over one another.
Sabay sat down next to Sarrah, put his arm around her, and held her close. Belloh, with her brother in her lap, scooted herself close to Sabay’s other side, and cried softly.
Sabay felt overwhelmed. He was going to have to bury the little girl, their precious Alida, in the morning. He could hardly bear the thought. He had to do it though, for Sarrah’s sake, and for the others as well. He couldn’t just leave her there. And what would they do afterward? He needed food. The others needed food. He felt they were safe from Joseph and his gang for now, but what about tomorrow? What would they do? Perhaps the self-proclaimed soldiers of the city would find others to terrorize and become distracted. Still, once they caught sight of the group of children, they would remember and they would go after them. Sabay felt like he just couldn’t go on. He didn’t know how he could, but what else could he do?
The thunder roared so loudly now he wondered how any of them would ever succumb to sleep. The horror of the day began to replay itself in all of their tortured minds.
As if attracted to the anguish and torment of the motherless, the shadow that engulfed the city began to move and change. It rose upward and then folded in upon itself. It condensed itself. It formed a disk of substance, thick like the ashes of burnt, black paint. It swirled itself in a circle at an incredible speed, ever increasing in velocity directly above the haven of the grief-stricken children.
Directly beneath him, Sabay heard, as well as felt, a rumbling. It was a sound so thunderous and so full of force that he could never have described it. Just as he thought the basement, the flashlight blinked and went out, leaving them in the most unconditional darkness they had ever known.
From the colossal black cloud swirling above them, fueled by currents of electrical energy from the vast and countless lightening bolts, shot a tornado-like column. With the speed of light it stabbed itself ferociously through the temple straight through to its bowels.
The building imploded and then exploded with the force of an atomic explosion.
The death of the innocents was instantaneous and without foreknowledge. It was without pain and there would not be any forever more. If there had been a witness, one with the extraordinary power to discern such things, they would have seen the plump, cherub-like spirits of fifteen children rising up with singing and laughter, reaching into the arms of love.
From the massive crater that was left in the wake of the blast, a great earthquake panned out in every direction. The earth cracked open wide, forming deep chasms. The ground rolled like waves, utterly annihilating every single structure within seconds. When the quake reached the shores of the Atlantic Ocean, it caused four separate and mammoth tidal waves. The city’s destruction was absolute.
Out of the vestiges of the smoldering, lifeless abyss rose up a form of such magnitude and enormity, with its appearance so sinister and evil, that it was beyond comprehension. Dark and vaporous, it moved quickly—its manner disjointed—above the ruins, then high into the atmosphere with a shrill and inhuman roar.
Freedom Mourned
Tiny cries haunt the night,
Born of hate and shame,
Waiting alone in darkened shadows,
Silent screams for an angel,
And only by the Light of Love shall they be saved.
She hadn’t meant to catch a glimpse of her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Her face horrified her and she took great pains to avoid the sight of it. She had been disfigured for six very long years and even now, she could not come to grips with what she saw. She steeled herself and fought back the tears welling up in her eyes. She quickly opened wide the mirrored cabinet and grabbed her hairbrush but did not shut it. She brushed her long glossy chestnut hair letting it fall over the left side of her face. She knew this tactic did little to cover the hideous and repulsive scar that ran wide from the corner of her eye, across her cheekbone, and extended to her chin but it was all she had to work with. Surgery or even make-up was totally and absolutely unattainable.
As she slipped into despondency, she was jolted, as if struck by a volt of electricity, at the sound of her mother’s harsh, shrill voice shouting at her from the kitchen.
“Grace, I want to leave now! You’d better come out of there right now! The Lord proclaims, ‘Thou shall not be filled with vanity and pride over your appearance!”
Her mother’s words pierced her soul. Her disheartened disposition quickly altered to one of fury. Does she really think I’m vain, that I’m staring at myself in the mirror, admiring my beauty? She’s crazy, insane, stark raving mad! Even as she screamed the accusations in her mind, she was already bringing her thoughts under control so she could speak the words her mother wanted to hear. It was something she had learned to do as a young child. It had become her only known defense, weak as it was, and it usually did not protect her. She set her brush back in the cabinet and shut it, while quickly turning away, dodging another catastrophic glance at her face.
“Coming, Mother,” she called out as she swung open the bathroom door. She ran to her room and quickly grabbed her navy blue jacket. So as not to be reprimanded for running in the house, she slowed down considerably before she approached her mother.
“It’s about time, Grace. You’re never going to be anything to look at and more importantly you know better than to keep me waiting,” her mother told her matter-of-factly.
Grace, with her eyes lowered and in a small soft voice answered, "I know Mother. I’m sorry, please forgive me.”
“Only God can forgive you, Grace. Although, sometimes I think you are beyond salvation.”
Grace slowly nodded her head. She never, ever argued or defended herself. She never spoke unless she was spoken to and only if an answer or reply was expected. She existed in a constant state of keen alertness and anxiety.
“So do you think we could leave now?” her mother asked as she tugged one of her black driving gloves over her bony fingers.
“Yes.”
“Yes what?” her mother snapped sharply, eyes wide.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“That’s better,” her mother looked back down as she pulled on her other glove, “Well don’t just stand there looking like an idiot, get in the car! I want to get this over with.”
Grace knew her mother hated their weekly trip to the market as much as she did although their reasons could not have been more dissimilar. Grace’s mother frequently declared that she would not tolerate the defiling of her pure spirit by contact with ‘heathens’. Even those that regularly attended her own church, those she referred to as ‘backsliders’, were not immune to her callous and unforgiving judgment. Carol Hampton was of the opinion that most churchgoers were only concerned with the absolution of their weekly transgressions and as soon as they stepped foot out of the House of the Lord they fell back into their wicked and evil ways.
For Grace, there was a time, before the chastisement, a time where she could still find fleeting sensations of joy and she looked forward to their weekly excursions to the market and church. These were the only places she had been allowed to go outside of her dull, dreary home that was polluted with religious paraphernalia. She had never been to school or even Sunday school for that matter. During church services, her parents kept her guardedly between them. However, despite her obscene confinement and emotionally stunted environment, she was drawn to others. Even as a toddler, she loved people. Her unconditional and total love for all living things poured forth from her unreservedly. Almost everyone she encountered, consciously or subconsciously, knew her to be a magical child. Of all the cruel punishments and violent abuses her parents cast upon her none damaged her more than the denial of human contact. It was only after the incident, when she wanted nothing more than to hide away, did her sadistic parents force her to interact with the guests that frequented the office of their small, family owned motel. Grace knew with absolute certainty that when others stared at her they only saw her mark of sin, the brand of her offense against God. However, her extraordinary beauty is what held their attention. She stood tall and willowy and she moved with a mystical elegance. The scar on her face contrasted against her perfect skin and caused her exquisite loveliness to become all the more prominent and even though she was unaware of it, her inner devotion to the life force in all things became more pronounced and magnetic.
“Yes Mother,” Grace quickly answered in response to her mother’s demand that she get to the car. Grace hurried passed her through the side door into the adjacent carport attached to their two-bedroom cottage situated behind the continuous L shaped motel.
Once outside, the brilliant sun momentarily caused Grace to squint her eyes. Undiluted sunshine was rare along the northern coast of California. Suddenly, Grace was overcome with the yearning to run far into the thicket behind her house, lay on her back, and let her damaged body soak up the healing warmth of the sun. She imagined herself reading one of those cheap paperback, grocery store novels like the ones she occasionally found in the guest rooms. The bible was the only reading material her parents found suitable. Television or even a radio was absolutely forbidden within her home and she of course had never been to a movie theater or a stage play. During rare times of bravery and desperation, when she found herself alone cleaning and making-up a guest room, she'd stolen hasty glances of the pages of the books and magazines forgotten or discarded. It was because of these books as well as quick glimpses at the televisions in the rooms, that she came to understand that a happier, healthier life could be had. She knew the lives of others did not meet her parent’s righteous standards for living a pure and sinless life but she also knew, without a doubt, that to inflict pain on another was far from the will of God. As a result of years and years of bible study, and with wisdom far beyond her nineteen years, she truly understood that to judge another was God’s right alone. The dawning of these first epiphanies was the beginning of her understanding that her parents were cruel, selfish, and deranged, and her silent mantra had become, Vengeance is mine saith the Lord.
To Grace, the already short drive to Westport’s only market passed far too quickly. She was experiencing severe apprehension at the thought of contending with the gaping stares of those she might encounter, combined with feelings of extreme distress knowing she would inevitably do something her mother did not approve of.
“All right, let’s get this over with and I don’t want you wandering around,” her mother told her once she had parked in the small lot in front of the market.
“You better answer me when I am talking to you Grace,” her Mother snapped at her, grabbing a hold of her upper arm so fiercely that her thumb and fingers pinched the tender flesh of her under arm, breaking the skin.
Grace winced and whimpered, “I’m sorry, Mother.”
Her mother glared at her for a long moment before letting go of her arm, and then she got out of the car without saying another word to her daughter. Grace felt her arm tenderly before she also got out and hurried to catch up to her mother, keeping her head down, and letting her hair hang over her face.
Once they were inside her mother ordered, “Grab a basket.” Although, she used a much softer tone now that they were within earshot of other people.
Grace quickly did as she was told, hastily walking after her mother.
As soon as Grace’s mother whipped around the corner of the first aisle, the market’s only stock boy, Ricky Starks, stopped Grace dead in her tracks. At once, her heart started to beat furiously with fear and panic.
“Hello, Grace,” Ricky said with a warm smile.
Embarrassed and self-conscious of her disfigured face, Grace nodded her head only slightly. She had known Ricky all her life and he had always tried to be friendly to her whenever he found her parents preoccupied with something or someone other than Grace. She estimated that he was a year or two older than she was, and she thought his tall and slim, athletic body and heart shaped face were intriguing. He was the type of boy ordinary parents would have been pleased to have their child associate with. He was clean cut, hard working, and his family had money. The Starks had moved to, and consequently blessed, the small town of Westport, before Ricky was born. They owned the Westport Market, the Westport Café, and the Westport Inn, which of course was a far classier establishment than the Hampton’s rundown motel. Even though the Starks were the wealthiest family in the small town, they were never pretentious and gave extraordinary large donations towards the town’s development and improvement projects. Grace would have liked to get to know Ricky but she knew better. She had given up the hope of ever having a friend a long time ago.
“How are you this fine day?” Ricky asked as he leaned close to her, speaking quietly while still holding his soft smile.
Grace glanced up at him only to just as quickly glance away with a feeling of dread.
“I-I’m good,” she told him in a whisper.
“That’s good to hear,” his smile broadened, “So how’s your family’s business these days?”
Frantic, while trying to think of something to say that would enable her to get away from him before her mother found them talking, she replied, “It’s good.”
“I am happy to hear that. I was wondering if it had been slow lately. My dad told me it’s been a little slow over at the inn.”
Grace started to thank him for his concern and then tell him that she had better find her mother but she was too late.
“Grace, what are you doing?”
Grace jumped a little when she heard her mother’s sharp voice from behind her.
“Oh hi, Mrs. Hampton. I was just asking Grace how business was at the motel,” Ricky quickly interceded, still holding his boyish grin.
“I don’t see why that would be any of your concern Ricky Starks, or why you would even think to ask my daughter such questions.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Hampton. I was just trying to be friendly, that’s all.”
“My business is none of your affair, now I think you should leave Grace alone and get back to work before I complain to your father.”
“Okay, okay. I’m sorry to have bothered you Mrs. Hampton,” Ricky told her. He quickly looked at Grace and gave her a quick wink.
Grace’s heart felt like it dropped completely out of her chest and into her stomach. She knew that she was going to get it now. Why did Ricky have to talk to me? She did not look at him as he walked away.
Her mother stepped very close to her leaving only a couple of inches between their faces. Grace struggled with the urge to turn away.
“What have your father and I told you about talking to boys?” her mother grilled her in a stern and sharp but a low, hushed voice.
“That it is an indulgence but I didn’t start talking to him, he came up to me,” Grace whispered.
“Don’t you dare talk back to me! You know you’re supposed to stay with me the whole time and keep your mouth shut! And what do you do, you little harlot? You start talking to the first boy that crosses your path.”
“But…,” Grace started to say.
“I don’t want to hear another word come out of your filthy mouth, you ugly sinner! You just wait until I get you home and tell your father about this Grace Hampton. We’ll just see what he thinks about this. I imagine he’ll have something quite unpleasant in store for you. Something that’s really going to teach you a lesson and you had better learn it this time!”
“I’m sorry Mother,” Grace whispered, as she fought back her tears.
Near hysterics but still able to control the volume of her voice, her mother snapped, “I told you and I will not tell you again, not a word out of you, you disgusting piece of trash.”
Grace only nodded her head.
“Now start moving. The sooner we can get through this the sooner we can get home to your father.”
Grace wanted to plead with her mother, to explain that she hadn’t done anything wrong but she knew it wouldn’t change anything, she knew her mother wouldn’t listen, and would only become angrier.
The rest of their shopping trip and drive home passed in a haze for Grace. She couldn’t think straight. Her hands and feet felt numb. The anticipation of punishment tortured her mind. Her thoughts were frenzied and muddled. She even thought that maybe this time she would die. Maybe they would kill her, and release her from the constant, paralyzing fear. During the drive home she sat slumped in her seat staring out her side window. Suddenly, her mother brutally slapped the back of her head as she screamed at her for day dreaming and having impure thoughts about ‘that boy’. Her mother smacked her again, this time against her forehead, while she screeched at her for slouching. She accused her of slothfulness, a deadly sin, and one that would surely guarantee her a place in hell, smothered in fire and brimstone for all eternity.
Her mother pulled into the carport and stopped the car with such force that it made Grace’s seatbelt cling tight from the sudden stop.
“I’m going to find your father and I want all the groceries put away before we come to talk to you. Do you understand me?” she ordered Grace sternly.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Well get moving then!” her mother snapped when Grace hadn’t moved at once.
Grace got out, walked to the trunk of the car, and loaded her arms with as many bags as she could carry while she listened to her mother’s fading footsteps as she headed to the motel office.
She hurriedly put the groceries away. She wasn’t sure how much time she had before her parents arrived and she didn’t want to be caught with the task unfinished. When she was done, she sat at the kitchen table and waited while her heart beat furiously and her stomach turned.
It didn’t take long for them to burst through the front door shouting her name. She hung her head, closed her eyes, and called to them, letting them know where she was. She heard her father’s angry footsteps as he stomped into the kitchen. She did not look up when they entered.
“What is all this talk about you consorting with a boy, young lady?” her father’s voice came sharp and harsh, full of anger.
She couldn’t answer. She didn’t know what to say. Nothing she said would matter.
“Answer me, you little witch!” her father screamed.
“He just asked me how I was and how business was at the motel,” Grace told him, her voice tiny and frightened.
Grace heard footsteps and then her father slapped her across the right side of her face and then backhanded her across the left side. She cried out in pain and leaned over the table as she cradled her left cheek. Her scar felt like it was on fire.
“You have no business talking to him, not about yourself or our motel! How many times have we told you that it is a sin to fraternize with a boy that you are not married to? How many times have we told you that lust is a shameful transgression, a crime that should be punished? Lust is an evil desire that leads to the death of your soul.”
“How many times Grace?” he screamed at her again when she didn’t answer.
“A lot. I tried not to talk to him, I swear! I had to say something before he would move out of my way. I’m so sorry.”
As Grace cried softly, her father hit her in the face again, this time she tasted blood.
“I have told you to never, ever speak to boys but you just won’t listen! Do you want to go to hell for all eternity?”
“No.”
“Well, you are well on your way Grace and you are not bringing us down with you! You have to be punished.”
Grace’s heart sank, she was hoping hitting her was going to be punishment enough but she knew now, it was only wishful thinking.
“What should we do with her?” Grace heard her mother ask in disgust.
“I'm not sure yet. Just let me think a minute, will you Carol?” her father answered, sounding irritated.
“I know what to do,” her mother said after a minute of silence, “whip her.”
“Go get the switch,” he told Grace.
Grace looked at her father with pleading eyes.
“Go get it now!” he screamed.
Grace slowly got up from her chair. Her legs felt weak and wobbly. She went to the kitchen closet, she grabbed the branch that her father had ripped from the birch tree behind their house one night when she had broken a dish in the sink.
Grace handed him the switch. Immediately her mother forced her to turn around and roughly yanked her jacket from her, then shoved her against the kitchen table. Grace leaned over, placed her hands firmly on its surface, and took a long, deep breath.
Grace closed her eyes as soon as she heard the swishing sound of the switch taken back quickly in the air and brought forward hard against her back. She valiantly fought back her cries of pain, but after the fourth whack, she couldn’t hold them in anymore. Her father struck her six more times before stopping.
“I don’t ever want to hear about you talking to another boy ever again, do you understand me?” her father screamed into her burning hot ear.
Grace nodded her head.
“I can’t hear you!”
“Yes-s…s-sir…I under…stand,” Grace told him between sobs.
“Good. Now go clean up and then get to work on cleaning the rooms.”
Mercifully, it seemed to Grace, both her parents left the house, heading back to the office.
Grace stood in the kitchen and waited for the throbbing pain in her back to subside before she went into the bathroom to clean herself off and change into a fresh shirt. After five minutes, the pain had not lessened but she knew she was going to have to move soon before her parents came looking for her.
She slowly took a few steps in the direction of the bathroom. She could not stand straight. She walked slow, hunched over, like an old woman. When she did finally make it to the bathroom, she quickly and quietly closed the door and then collapsed onto the floor and cried.
After several minutes of agonizing and painful sobbing, she pushed herself up off the floor. She slowly took off her shredded shirt as fresh, excruciating pain shot through her whole body. She dropped the shirt to the floor and then stood sideways in front of the mirror and looked over her shoulder to see her back. There were ten new cuts and they all bled.
It was the old scars that caused her to sob softly now. Her back had become one large mass of scar tissue. It had been slashed more than eighty times.
She turned around, faced the mirror, and saw only the repulsive monster she had become. With her spirit broken and her psyche shattered, she no longer had the strength to control her thoughts. She stared at her ravaged face, her lower lip was puffy, and her one unblemished cheek was beet red. Her other cheek, the scarred cheek, as a result of the brutal slapping had turned purple and her mind morbidly began to replay the cause of its original ruin.