“Hey! I’m Alice. It’s Riley, right?” I smile.

            “That’s me! It’s nice to meet you,” my date wraps her arms around my shoulders. I usually don’t go for hugs on the first date but something about this girl makes me want to open up and tell her all my secrets. I’ve never tried online dating before, but it doesn’t seem as bad as people make it out to be. Or maybe I just got lucky. I mean, she’s beautiful. Her curled blonde hair cascades down the open back of her baby blue sundress. When she pulls out of our hug, I’m met with eyes bluer than water so clear that you can see through to the ocean floor.

            “Sorry,” I chuckle nervously as I realize I’m staring. She joins me in laughter as we both sit down at the high-top table. Three tall candles rest on the glossy finish of each table, being the only source of light in the whole restaurant. The small flames cast a reddish glow with the maroon color of the walls, setting a very intimate mood for a first date. I was unsure of the location as soon as I arrived. Now, I have no choice but to make small talk in an attempt to lighten the mood. “How are you?”

            “A little nervous, to be honest.”

            “Me too! I haven’t been on a first date in years.” Why did I say that? Great idea of a first impression, Alice.

            “That’s okay!” she says, “Let’s just get to know each other for now. Tell me about yourself.” She must have seen the embarrassment on my face.

            “Okay, let me think.” I try to come up with interesting things about my life but I’m blanking on everything other than my breakup with Penelope. I’m on a first date! She shouldn’t be on my mind. Should she?

            “Well, my dad died a couple years ago. Just tell me the first thing that comes to mind! I want to know everything,” Riley leans forward on her arms, giving me her full attention. It’s a warm gesture, but it fails to rid me of my thoughts.

            “I’m sorry for your loss,” I frown. “I was actually thinking about everything that went down with my ex-girlfriend, Penelope. That’s a dark story.”

            “Don’t be afraid to share things with me! How long ago was your breakup?”

            “A little over a year ago.”

            “Why did you two end things?” Oh boy. Here it comes.

            “That’s where it gets dark. Are you sure you want to know?” I ask her, fearful of her response.

            “Of course! I have quite a few scary breakup stories myself.” If only she knew what was coming.

Two years ago…

            “Henry, our one-year anniversary is coming up in a month. I have to get her something. But what?”

“Maybe a necklace?” my best friend suggests on the other end of the phone.

“I could make her a butterfly necklace! I know she likes butterflies. I want it to be real, though, and diamonds are really expensive. Can you make real diamonds?” I ask.

“I think they’re made of carbon?” he says, his tone turning it into more of a question.

“Yeah. Google says carbon is found in pretty much everything, even ashes. That’s interesting.” I get an idea. “I’ll call you back,” I mutter and hang up the phone. I open a new tab on my laptop and type “ashes into diamonds” into the search bar. Videos pop up immediately and I find myself watching them until the sun goes down. I know how I’m going to do it, but where will I get ashes? There is a cemetery down the street from my house…

            I pull my boots on, grab a black bag from the kitchen, and go outside to grab a shovel from the greenhouse. When I step inside, my black and silver shovel is leaning against a shelf full of succulents. As I hold the shovel in my hands, a pang of guilt washes over me. Maybe I should think further into what I’m about to do. No, I think to myself, Penelope and I have been dating for almost a year. I have to do something special for her. I grab hedge trimmers and start running down the street. I don’t have much time to do this if I don’t want to get caught. The gravel crunches under my feet and my pulse is in my ears. The loud thrumming distracts me from my doubt.

            Upon arriving at the garden of death, I start searching for graves with the lumpiest dirt covering the casket. Carbon resides in fresh corpses more prominently than it does in old and decomposed ones. Squinting in the dark, I come to a cross-shaped headstone that reads:

Charles S.

Father, Brother, and Friend

He will be forever missed.

            I swiftly look away after reading the last line. I can’t let this simple factor stop me from achieving my goal. I thrust my shovel into the ground beneath me and jump when I hear a stick snap behind me. I freeze, not wanting to be seen. Dread fills every inch of my body as the thing comes closer. Its steps are quiet in the fallen leaves, like it’s about to jump out and grab me. I can feel it right behind me as beads of sweat form on my forehead. Right when my legs are about to give out, something soft brushes up against my shin. I let out the breath I was holding as I realize, it was just a cat. A black cat to be exact. How fitting.

            After digging up mounds and mounds of dirt, my jeans are brown and the top of a white casket can be seen, even in the dark. I open the casket to reveal a man that looks to be around 70 years old. His hair is white and he’s wearing a blue button-up that’s tucked into black dress pants. I grab his wrists and pull as hard as I can. It takes some force to lift his body out of the pit his casket is in. Once above ground, I lay him down and grab my hedge trimmer. His body is definitely too big for the bag I brought. The snap of his bones breaking under the pressure of the large scissors echoes through the small cemetery. First his arms are shoved into the plastic bag. Then, I cut his legs at the hip and right below the knee. Thank God he was embalmed. Otherwise, there would be blood everywhere and I don’t have time for that.

I don’t have it in me to snap his neck. I leave his head on and tie the bag closed around his neck so I don’t leave remnants of an old man around my neighborhood. I refill the hole with dirt and start on my way home, now carrying 165 pounds of old man with me. I have to take breaks every once in a while to rest my arms. I can’t carry 100 pounds, let alone 165, and I don’t want the gravel pathway to shred the thin bag I’ve put him in.

            When I get home, I put Charles in the huge freezer attached to my fridge. He needs to stay cool if I want his remains to be as valuable as possible. I pick up the phone and dial Henry’s number.

“Alice?” His voice sounds raspy. He must have been asleep.

            “Hey! I need a favor. Do you still work at the crematorium down the street?”

            “Yeah, why?”

✻✻✻

            I hear a car door slam. I look out the window and see Henry’s red pickup truck parked in my driveway. Since I don’t have a car, Henry drove here to help me take Charles to the crematorium.

            “Where is he?” He sounds nervous and tired.

            “In the freezer over there,” I point towards the kitchen and follow him through the hallway. He carries Charles to the bed of his truck and secures him with bungee cords. Once we arrive, we park in the back of the crematorium.

            “I’m sneaking you in, okay? There shouldn’t be anybody here since it’s so late at night.”

            “It’s only 10pm.” He gets out of the truck and heads to unlock the door before grabbing Charles’ remains.

            “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he groans.

            “What is it?” What could possibly go wrong at a time like this. Lots of things.

            “I left my key in my office. I didn’t have a closing shift or an opening one so I didn’t think I’d need it. I’m sorry, Alice.”

            “We can pick the lock! I have some hairpins,” I say, reaching for the pins holding my messy bun in place. My brown locks tumble down across my shoulders.

            Henry grabs the pins from my hand and frantically starts picking the lock, his hands shaking. The only street lamp in sight shines just enough light to see the keyhole.

            Right as the lock clicks open, the streetlamp’s bulb flickers off, leaving us in complete darkness. Henry and I both jump in surprise.

           “I’ll go get the bag.” Henry stumbles toward the truck. I know he ran into it because a loud thud is followed by some impolite words.

            The air inside the crematorium inside is cold, much colder than outside, despite the furnaces surrounding us. I flick the lightswitch on while Henry carries the black bag into another room. This one is full of metal tables and unfolded cardboard boxes.

            “Take one of those boxes and place it on the metal table over here,” he nods toward a table against the wall. I do as I’m told and Henry sets Charles on the brown surface. With an easy slice, the black bag is cut in half, revealing the pale, chopped up body before us. Henry is quick to fold the cardboard box and place the lid on. Thank goodness. The frown lines on Charles’ face were creeping me out.

“Can you help me wheel him to the furnace?” We roll the metal table into the first room. In front of every furnace is a large rectangular hole that drops into a concrete ashtray below, full of ashes. I could probably just use these. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I just realized that there are ashes already here,” I mumble, partially regretting my decision to dig up an old man.

“Well, we can just use those if you’d like.”

“No. I’ve already made it this far. I don’t want to turn back now,” I decide.

“Okay. I’ll just close the door and turn on the fire. It’ll take a few hours,” Henry informs me. Henry presses a button to open the furnace. A metal door slides up and he pushes the cardboard box into the space in front of us.

            “A few hours? What if someone catches us?”

            “We’ll be fine. The whole city will be asleep in a few hours. Don’t worry. Wanna come play chess with me while we wait?”

            “Okay,” I groan and roll my eyes.

            Sure enough, the flames disappear and Henry heads to break up what’s left of Charles with a large metal rod. He comes back with a black box full of ashes.

            “That should be enough for the diamond. Thank you so much for doing this, Henry. You don’t understand how much this means to me. I know this is probably crazy, not to mention against the law. But I trust that you’ll keep this to yourself, yes?”

            “I promise, Alice, there’s no way I’m admitting to being an accomplice to this. I can’t believe you even talked me into this. But I would do anything for you.” And with that, he drives me home, making sure to lock the door again on his way out.

✻✻✻

            Today’s the day. The jewelry should arrive at any moment. Our anniversary was seven months ago, but I discovered that it would take around eight months to make the diamond. The company apologized for my loss, even though it wasn’t technically my loss, and they said they couldn’t put my diamond in a necklace. I had them set it into a ring, instead. I hope she likes it. With that thought, the doorbell rings.

            “I’ll get it!” I shout to Penelope, who’s in the other room. The velvet box comes with a note that says:

Dear Alice,

Thank you for purchasing this diamond ring. We’re glad to have helped in the permanent remembrance of your loved one.

-Ashes to Diamonds x

How sweet. “I have to ask you something, Penny.” I say as I walk into the living room. Her strawberry blonde hair is tied in a bun with little twirls coming down on her face. She looks so perfect while reading Frankenstein, her favorite book.

            She looks up at me with golden-brown eyes and smiles. “What is it?”

            “I need you to stand.” And with that, she does, leaving the dog-eared book on the couch. I kneel. “I’ve known you for two years now and there isn’t one thing I don’t love about you. I love the way your hair curls when you get out of the shower. I love the way you smile and wipe your tears after watching The Notebook for the millionth time. I love the way you’re always so interested in the news. I love your compassion for people. The list could go on forever. But, most of all, I love the way you look at me as if I’m the only girl in the whole world. I want you to look at me that way forever. Penelope Irene Bell, will you do me the honor of being my wife?”

I pull out the box and open it. A diamond ring sits in the middle of the box. Her eyes are wet now, leaving trails of tears down her cheeks. She covers her face in her hands and, for a second, I’m not sure if those are tears of joy. I hear a muffled “yes” before she nods her head frantically and kneels down to wrap me in her arms.

She crawls back and holds out her left hand for me to slide the ring on her finger. It fits perfectly. The sun coming in through the sheer, white curtains makes the diamond glisten.

For the next few days, all Penelope talks about is the wedding. She spends her days looking through newspapers and wedding magazines. A few months ago, she told me about a news story she read. The grounds keeper at a cemetery found a black and silver shovel, along with hedge trimmers, by the grave of a seventy-year-old man. My guilt kicked in immediately. Every Sunday, she would tell me about another detail the cops had found. There were no fingerprints. The casket was filled with dirt. The family hasn’t even claimed him. With every new detail she tells me comes another wave of breath-taking guilt. Now that I’ve proposed, I don’t know what to do.

We’re both sitting at the glass table when she looks up from her newspaper and says, “The cops still haven’t found the culprit. Nobody saw who did it or knows who it could be. Who could do such a thing? That poor family, and they don’t even know,” her tone is full of sympathy.

After staring into her brown eyes for a while, I can’t take it anymore. I’ve thought about this every day since the cremation. My guilt has been building and I cannot take it. “It was me, okay? I robbed that man’s grave. There, I confessed. Every single day for the past eight months has been so torturous for me. And you following this story has only made it more difficult. But I did this all for you!” I thrust my hand in her direction. “Where do you think that diamond came from? I know you found the note on the counter after I proposed.”

She stares at me in silence. Her hand brushes through her hair as she tries to process this information. “How— how could you? I don’t understand. That’s absolutely disgusting! What were you thinking? I love you more than words can express, but this is too much. I don’t even want to know, Alice. It’s over.” And before I can protest or explain myself, she slips her shoes on and bolts out the door.

In the present…

            “Wow. What kind of person would steal a man from his grave? I mean, seriously. What was that? And then to use his ashes to propose to your girlfriend? That’s disgusting!” Riley scoffs.

            “It was all for Penelope. But it’s in the past now. She dumped me and I have no idea where she is. I haven’t seen her since.”

            “That guy had a name! Charles had a name! Do you even know what his last name was? Or were you too blind with your crazy ideas to look?” Her cold gaze moves from me to the candles, which are now halfway melted.

            “His name was Charles Stewart,” I mumble into my water glass before taking a sip.

            Riley gasps and the color fades from her cheeks. “Wait. Charles M. Stewart?”

            “Yeah, I think so. Why?” I ask, now confused.

            “That’s my father’s name.”

Gallantry and Grenades is a chapter from “The Last of the Bungalow Warriors” by Maurice Deats available for purchase at The Book Patch.

The war was over before either the young warrior or the Great Chief had been born, but its effects would linger, and would remain an influence on their lives.  There was still a strong feeling of patriotism, but more than that, there was a feeling of community.  And beyond that, there was a belief that sacrifice for the greater good was both a duty and an honor.

The warriors were torn this morning.  They wanted to go to the bungalow as was their daily habit, but it had been the youngest warrior’s birthday the day before, and among the somewhat meager collection of presents that had been bestowed upon him had been an assortment of green rubber army men that the only friend they had in the tiny community had given him.  These had been faithfully retrieved from packages of Cracker Jacks.  It was not originally the intention to save them for gifting purposes, but faced with the need for a suitable present and driven by a strong feeling of social obligation, they were hastily gathered together, crudely wrapped and proudly if somewhat reluctantly presented at the appropriate time at the party the day before.  There was of course nothing as exotic as ice cream at the party, but there was a cake that went a long way towards alleviating the young friend’s sense of personal loss.  Besides, toy ownership was a communal concept given the level of scarcity, so it wasn’t like he would not be interacting with them at roughly the same frequency.  Just the same, the youngest warrior was thrilled to get them, and felt richer than he had ever felt before.

So the choice was obvious.  Especially after a certain young boy came riding into the yard on his army green bike with the dark camo stripes, singing “You’re in the army now…you’re not behind the plow…you’ll never get rich by digging a ditch…you’re in the army now.”  The youngest warrior was not upset.  Truth be known, as much as he loved his life as a Bungalow Warrior, he had really hoped to spend the day with his new toys.  The Great Chief knew that morale would be low in the tribe if he forced them to be warriors today, so he gave in and the three of them quickly enlisted in the United States Army, Bravo Company.  They quickly ran up to their bedroom and reached under the bed where the weapons of war were stored and extracted a pair of metal and plastic army rifles and a knife in a green woven sheath.  The presence of the knife was not generally advertised, but military secrets were hard enough to keep in general, and it was especially hard to hide things from “she who knows everything”.  Just the same, the Great Chief slipped the knife inside his shirt as the boys scrambled down the stairs and headed for the door, cautiously delaying attaching it to his belt until they were safely outside, away from prying eyes.  The youngest warrior snatched up the cigar box with the little green army men from its place in the toy box in the corner of the stair landing on his way by.  It felt good to hold something of that great value in his hands, and owning it gave him new status that, as the youngest, was very much welcomed.

The three boys rushed out onto the porch, jumped down the length of the steps without touching any, gathered themselves and raced each other to the sandpile where a proper battle could be joined.  Since his arrival their friend had been grinning but not saying anything.  The warriors knew something was up but didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of asking what it might be.  At last the boy could contain himself no longer, and from the genuine army green ammunition pouch he had strapped to his belt he produced, with a flourish he had obviously practiced, a green oval item with a handle and a pin.  A real pretend grenade!  The warriors had seen them in the five and dime and dry goods store in town but of course did not have the money for such a thing as that.  And they had never known anyone fortunate enough to actually own one.  Turns out their friend’s cousin had left it by mistake when his family had stopped by for a quick visit the night before.

The grenade was a fancy one with a place you put in a special round cap or a cap torn off from a standard roll from a cap gun.  When you pushed the handle in and put in the pin it wound up a spring.  When you pulled the pin and let go of the handle the spring would unwind and turn a mechanism inside that caused a few second delay before the trigger released and detonated the cap, simulating an explosion.  It was designed so that even if you threw the grenade, and of course that is what it was for, the cap would stay in place and not jar free on impact.  The boys tried it a couple of times and were delighted to see the delay was long enough that it wouldn’t detonate until it landed, no matter how far they could throw it.  And better yet, it wouldn’t break.  A broken toy was bad enough, but a broken toy that didn’t really belong to you and that you probably shouldn’t be playing with was far worse.  They had had some experience with this, and they knew this to be true.

The boys had had access to comic books featuring actual soldiers who were war heroes, like G.I. Joe, so they knew a great deal about war and how it was supposed to go.  They arranged the green rubber figures in various battle configurations, half on each side of the mound of sand that was the battlefield.  The top of the mound was the prized target for both sides, as anybody knew who knew anything about the Battle of the Bulge.  This battle raged back and forth, and the grenade was tossed from one side to the other from time to time, scattering sand and little green men as it exploded, aided somewhat from a small sun-bronzed hand as needed.

As much fun as this was, especially given the recentness of having acquired the troops involved, it wasn’t long before the boys wanted to take a more active role in the war, and almost as if on a signal the three of them trotted off to the pig apple tree to gather up green apples to conduct a proper battle with.  There were three of them, so they would rotate where the extra man was, but whichever side ended up with only the one soldier would have use of the grenade.  That was only fair.

Well the thing about grenades is that they will wipe out anybody that happens to be in the neighborhood when they go off.  That meant instant defeat for the receiving team.  But the boys had paid close attention when reading those comic books, and they knew it was every soldier’s duty, nay his highest honor and deepest pleasure, to fall on any grenades that happened by, thus saving his comrades and preserving the victory, and possibly freeing all of Europe and ending conflict in the Pacific Theater in the bargain.  The more grenades you fell on the greater your legacy, and leaving a legacy was the thing that all soldiers strove for, and there was no greater shame than failing to die and therefore not having an opportunity to leave a legacy.  So when the grenade landed, the boys would jostle each other as they scrambled to be the one who had the privilege of falling on it.  This put a strain on civility and threatened unity amongst the troupes.  In fact, in days to come, when some boys visiting from out of town joined in the battles, a fist fight actually broke out when one boy felt that another older boy was hogging all the glory for himself and not letting anyone else fall on the grenade.  But today there was no such conflict, as the three boys were inseparable friends and the idea of fighting among themselves was unthinkable.  Well, mostly.

The war ended eventually, with the allied forces emerging victorious.  The soldiers trudged home anxious to be reunited with their families and ever hopeful that there might be some scraps of cake remaining from yesterday’s party.  As they trudged wearily in, “she who knows everything” smiled to herself as she saw the multiple black smudges on the boy’s shirts where the caps had exploded, and guided the boys to the table where the last three pieces of cake perched invitingly, along with a glass of chocolate milk.  The chocolate had been purchased because of the party and was not something that one could rely on being available generally speaking.  As the boys settled over their cake, “she who knows everything” leaned over and put her lips close to the Great Chief’s ear so that only he could hear and said lovingly, “If I ever catch you rolling around on the ground with that knife on your belt again I’m going to skin you with it.”  And then she smiled sweetly and went back to her chores.

It was early morning, with the evidence of the previous night’s monsoon storm strewn everywhere. Shingles from houses blocks away, limbs from heat-brittled trees, a cheap dollar store ball that had popped somewhere on its journey, and the twisted wreckage of a portable basketball structure laying awkwardly on its side bore evidence of nature’s fury. The earth at last released its pent-up aroma, freed by the moisture that it had been denied for months. Though the sight of the carnage bore on him somewhat, the exhilaration of having survived the destructive force of nature mingled with an appreciation of seeing her transformative, nurturing side more than compensated, and his soul was at peace.

He was lost in contemplating this odd dichotomy as he went about the business of assessing damage and commencing remediation. His heart sank as he saw that a fragile porcelain water feature had toppled from its perch onto the jagged red shale at the edge of the walkway that surrounded the pedestal that normally provided it a convenient place to rest. He picked up the sculpture and lovingly inspected it for the damage that he knew he would inevitably find. He saw none. This was startling, given the height from which it had fallen and the delicate construction. He determined that putting it back on its support would only invite further disaster when the next storm hit, which was predicted for the very next evening. Instead he thought the safety of the porch on the lea side of the heavy glider would be best for the next couple of months while the monsoon season blew itself out. He gingerly carried the sculpture, its power cord dangling unceremoniously to one side, as he continued to search for any sign of hidden damage, naturally expecting the worst, as the object in question was held it in high regard by his wife who had received it on some bygone anniversary or other. It fit the theme of her life, with western boots and hats, lariats and fenceposts molded into a stunning expression of the unquenchable spirit of the desert and those who had made the desert their home, combined with the life-giving fluid that sustained that life. So his relief was genuine as his gaze, fixed on his precious burden, found no evidence of the abuse that had been rendered.

With his eyes thus engaged, instinct guided his steps towards the safety of the porch. And then it happened. Out of the corner of his eye he saw it, but another step elapsed before his mind was able to tear itself loose from its cataloging of the multitude of ways in which he had cheated his fate and escaped the disappointed, somewhat accusatory looks his wife would have been quick to provide had the art piece been reduced to pieces. Maybe it was the fact that its colors were such a perfect match for its surroundings, or the fact that it lay perfectly motionless on the ground not two feet from his present location, but it took much longer than it should for his mind to associate the distinct diamond images on the long, twisted, silent, slithery shape, a step to his left. It took less time thereafter for the arrowhead-shaped cluster of scales to become visible at the end of the tail, and even less for the menacing look of the slanted eyes and purposeful raising of the wedge of a head to sink in.

His mind did not perform a quick inventory of the carefully constructed strategies that he had spent all those past occasions formulating. It did not recall the dreams and assess which avoidance techniques had proven to be successful in these nocturnal simulations and which had been lest than optimal. It did not reflect upon the many examples of proper etiquette as played out on the silver screen wherein the heroes of his now distant youth had survived just such circumstances. No, it did none of these things. Instead it sent an immediate, urgent request to the muscles of his left leg to propel him at all possible speed to the right, which it did. It then sent a subsequent request to his right leg to prepare for landing, which it did. Unfortunately, the landing involved the unplanned participation of the dangling power cord, which wedged beneath his right foot. The cord went taut and his momentum propelled him through the atmosphere for an adequate distance such that his landing, however painful and undignified it might be, was at a spot safely beyond the striking distance of the onlooking serpent. It is hard to know if snakes laugh, even silently to themselves, but there was a look in the eyes of this particular reptile that could only be described as a blend of mirth and contempt. Otherwise it had no reaction. It did not strike. It did not even coil. In fact, it did not even move. That is probably good, because the time it takes one to extract oneself from a power cord when ones face is buried in the dirt and ones hands are pinned beneath the shattered remnants of an anniversary present from years gone by and one is very old is easily adequate for even the least talented snake to mount a serviceable offensive.

Perhaps it was the shock of impact, but the diamond shapes that were clearly on the back of the image of the serpent that had taken residence in his brain moments earlier were now missing, as was the rattle he had clearly seen on the end of the now pointed tail. The sinister slanted eyes and wedge shaped head had also been replaced, and this new intruder, who though long enough, was perhaps a foot and a half shorter than he had been in the recent past, was considerably less threatening in demeanor than the reptile that had occupied the spot only moments ago. But the mixture of mirth and contempt were still clearly there in his eyes as he slunk slowly away. There may even have been a slight trace of the sound of laughter.

I had my own load to carry in that moment as his mother collapsed in my arms, weeping at the sight of her broken child. She and several of the other women who had been with us from the beginning insisted on remaining with me. I tried to tell them that when they were done with him they could easily come for us, but they wouldn’t even consider abandoning him. I wish I had their strength at times.

He passed by us, struggling beneath the wait of the cross, enduring the taunts and jeers of the same ones who had laid palm fronds at his feet just days ago. So often he spoke of his sheep, but I wish they were not so easily directed as sheep. Maybe then they would recognize the truth of who is right before them, instead of being led astray by honeyed lips. I fear what this will mean for so many of my people.

Apparently he was not making fast enough progress to suit the soldiers because they dragged Simon of Cyrene from the crowd and forced him to carry the cross. I curse myself for allowing fear to keep me rooted in place instead of helping him. I could have taken up his cross. I could shielded him from the hateful words being hurled at him. I could have let him know that he was not alone on the loneliest walk.

I had to turn my eyes away as the hammer rang out and the nails pierced his flesh. I couldn’t block out the sound of his agony though. His physical is matched by my emotional. Had I realized what was going to happen I would have gladly taken his place, but he wouldn’t have allowed it. I recognize now that he had been preparing for this his entire life. Even as those men maimed him he plead for mercy on their behalf. I could hear him say, “Father forgive them. They know not what they do.” I can’t understand his compassion.

The soldiers knew nothing of who he was when they crucified him. How could they? They are nothing more than gentiles. Yet Pilate has spoken it true, whether he intended to or not. The sign reads King of The Jews. He is more than that still.   The ground roars in anguish and even the sun is blotted out in mourning for him.

What is that he said? It is finished? Please, Lord, this can not be the end!

We traveled all around the region calling the people to repent and return to God. Many did exactly that. I watched him cast out demons. I watched him calm raging seas. The truth is, the more I saw, the more terrified I became. The more I believed he was a danger to all of us. His effect on the people was incredible. It was a mob everywhere we went. That’s really when I began to consider the impact this man could have on our city.

Caiaphus brought up some things that I had to consider. While what I had seen the rabbi do was incredible, it didn’t make him God. Recently we ran into trouble as he was teaching on the sabbath and healed a crippled man. It was the sabbath after all. Some things just need to remain sacred. There was also the money to consider.

Some of the things he’s been telling the twelve of us just are too far out there for me to believe. As we walked to dinner tonight he tried to tell us he would be leaving us, but he would send some spirit to take his place. The more I think about it the less I want his help, let alone his helper.

Then at dinner he flat out told us that someone in the group was going to betray him. I don’t know who tipped him off, but someone must have. Strange that he wouldn’t try to stop what was happening. He simply told me to go and do what I had to do.

I knew they’d be in Gethsemane. It was one of his favorite spots to pray. I could see the resignation in his eyes as I approached. He wasn’t surprised, just disappointed. I almost couldn’t go through with it when I saw him.

Peter lost his mind, of course. The fool cut off Malchus’ ear! Like he was going to stop a contingent of soldiers by himself. He has no sense. All bluster and bravado. At least Jesus had the sense to go quietly. Had he resisted we all could have ended up dead. It was as if he chose to take the punishment himself rather than let the rest of us suffer.

Even though he knew what I was there for, he still opened his arms to me and welcomed my kiss. I watched as he was led away. Death is all that awaits him now. I knew that the moment I agreed to take Caiaphus’s silver. Blood money buys nothing else. Now I can’t even look at the bag that holds it. All I can see is the innocence I condemned with my kiss. What have I done?

The idea they were defeated wasn’t something Dylan was willing to accept. There had to be a way out. He couldn’t see one at the moment, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t one. He couldn’t communicate with Dinah either. There were so many men focused on them it was impossible to engage her without drawing someone’s immediate attention. He snuck a glance at his cousin from the corner of his eye and was shocked by what he saw.

Dinah showed no sign of concern despite their current situation. She stood confidently, her hands on her hips. There was a gleam in her eye that told Dylan she had a plan. In all the years they had known each other, Dinah had never been a good poker player. She wore her emotions on her sleeve, making it nearly impossible for her to bluff. Dylan prayed that was true in this instance as well. The wrong move would certainly cost them their lives.

“I have worked a long time for this moment. My master will be greatly pleased with me. Your capture has been his foremost goal,” the ghoul in a suit gushed confidently.

“Don’t be so certain of that” Dinah almost laughed as she spoke, ”You’re assuming it was your master who ordained this. What makes you think it wasn’t mine?”

The pacing ceased as the demon, Abbadon, turned to fully face Dinah and Dylan. He considered the strength in her stance for a moment, and the triumph faded from his face. He had expected their fear to be palpable, and yet here was this child, for all intents and purposes, denying him his moment of glory and revelry.

“You’re right when you call me a child. I am a child of the Great I Am. It is you who should be afraid.” Dinah spoke with such authority that her words struck like a braided whip.

Abbadon hissed as he realized Dinah had read his thoughts. His master had not prepared him for this.

“Of course he hasn’t prepared you for this! He couldn’t prepare you to win a victory you have already lost. I almost feel pity for you.” Dinah’s eyes raked up and down the demon’s frame, which seemed to visibly diminish under the weight of her spoken truth.

“What is this?! It is I who have trapped you! How do you have this power? To be inside my mind! I will destroy you!” Rage erupted from the fear roiling in the mind of the fallen angel.

Dylan reached out and grabbed Dinah’s hand. He wasn’t convinced yet that Dinah really knew what she was doing. His intent was to caution her but, the moment his skin touched hers, he felt a surge of power unlike anything he had ever experienced before. His fear vanished, replaced by the absolute assurance that comes from being one of the chosen children of God Almighty.

“You have no power over us! We are no longer slaves to fear!” Dylan stepped forward as he spoke, his eyes blazing.

All over the room, guns trained in on Dylan, ready to fire at Abbadon’s command. Before he could give the order however, Dinah raised her voice so even the men in the very back could hear her.

“Fear not! We are not your enemy. The one who commands us loves you, and wants nothing more than for you to be restored to him. Lay down your weapons! You are forgiven!” Her palms thrust forward on the word “forgiven” and a great rushing wind burst forth in every direction. The men were buffeted about by the blast and could barely keep their balance. Hushed voices washed over the three figures in the center of the room as the men were released from Abbadon’s influence and returned to themselves. All over the room, men lowered their weapons and fell to their knees.

“What are you doing?! Get up you fools! She is nothing!! I am the one who commands you!” Abbadon screeched at the men in desperation

“You have no power here demon.” Dylan closed in with clenched fists.

Abbadon glared back warily as his adversary stalked him. “I am the King of the Pit! This world was given to me by my master! I am not to be trifled with, boy!” He spat the last word as an insult, but Dylan merely grinned back, not slowing his pace at all.

“I won’t trifle with you. I will deal with you exactly as you deserve to be dealt with.” Dylan closed the gap with one more stride and grabbed the demon by the lapels of his designer suit. In one swift movement, Dylan threw the creature against one of the great stone pillars in the foyer. “There is only one King. The one who has called me has the power here. Can you see that now? Should I speak His name? Will that convince you?”

“No!” Abbadon cowered against the cold marble. All semblance of his former confidence having evaporated beneath Dylan’s fiery glare. Even the men who still surrounded them shrank back. Many were trying to gather their bearings and come to grips with the new reality, that their leader was no longer who they wanted to follow.

Dinah put her hand gently on her cousin’s shoulder, a quiet request for restraint implied by the touch. Once again, power flowed into Dylan, but this time it called him to peace instead of action. He inhaled deeply, centering his focus on who he belonged to.

“I want you to deliver a message to your master,” Dinah’s voice was calm, implying no imminent threat.

“Am I to be your errand boy now?” Abbadon hissed derisively.

“You can convey our message, or you can be the message. It’s up to you.” This time there was no mistaking the danger in her still, even tone.

“What would you have me say?” The demon knew he was in no position to argue.

“The One who was, and is, and is to come, has claimed this world as His own, and there is nothing that can separate us from Him. No matter what your master has planned, he will fail. The victory was won over two thousand years ago. You are both destined to return to the pit you are so proud to rule over. For eternity.”

Dinah could see the fear in Abbadon’s eyes. Despite his claims of dominion, he wanted to be free of the pit. He wanted to rule on Earth, not under it. Even his basic nature was to want to draw closer to the Creator’s creation.

“You know I speak the truth. Now go and speak that same truth to your master. Remind him who the Conqueror truly is! In Jesus’ Name!”

The moment Dinah spoke the savior’s name a tremendous crack resounded through the building and the marble foyer opened like a great maw to swallow Abbadon. Sheer panic reigned over the hardened warriors surrounding the cousins as the former temple of worldly knowledge shuddered and began to crumble around them. Their screams mixed with the thunder of falling stone as they tried to escape.

Dylan grabbed Dinah’s hand and she could sense his fear. Without stopping to think about what she was doing, she pushed the peace she felt in her soul outward from herself to cover Dylan as well. Immediately his hand relaxed in hers, despite the chaos that rained down, quite literally, around them. She knew there was no way she could explain what was happening within her, or how she was able to do what she had been doing. Dinah just knew that faith was the key, and as long as she trusted in Him things would work out exactly as they were meant to. She need only follow The Light.

Dust billowed up from the building’s collapse as Dylan and Dinah stood in the center of it. A moment before Dylan was wracking his brain for any possible escape route, squinting through the choking cloud that engulfed them. The noise nearly overwhelming him all on its own. Then Dinah’s hand was squeezing his and his fear vanished. As though she knew what he had been searching for, she raised her other arm and pointed. Dylan turned in the direction Dinah indicated. Light blazed through the tumult and beckoned to them. In unison they obeyed its call.

In this vision, a spectacular garden stretched out before him. Lush plants of every kind blossomed and bloomed, vibrant colors exploding from their petals. Succulent fruit trees, with branches bowing under the weight of their abundant harvest, gave shade to all manner of creature both great and small. Birds dressed in the most beautiful plumage imaginable soared above him. The call of a multitude of beasts rang out through the valley below. Their chorus almost melodic. Isaac breathed in the heady scent of lilac coupled with citrus. Each inhaled breath revived his spirit and every exhale cleansed all the impurity from his soul.

A breeze caressed his face, the warmth a welcome change from the chill that had seeped into his bones throughout their ascent. Isaac couldn’t figure out how it was possible to literally feel the warmth within a memory. That he was remembering someone else’s experience in the first place was strange enough without the physical sensations it inspired. With senses so acute and responsive to the scene before him, confusion about where he actually was engulfed him. Experiencing sights and smells so real made it nearly impossible to determine if what appeared to be truth was a dream, or if he had been miraculously transported to what could only be described as Eden. As soon as he thought the name, a truth resonated in Isaac’s mind and there was no longer any doubt about where he was. Eden. The birthplace of the world. His perfect garden. Satisfaction swelled in his heart as he assessed his work. But it wasn’t his work. It was His work.

“Yes, son, it is my work.” The same voice that had spoken to him earlier reverberated through him again.

“How am I seeing this?” Isaac spoke the words in hushed reverence, “How is it I am present, here, in Your garden?”

“You are here because I am here. I am everywhere. I am present within all things and have always been. I am within you. I have chosen you for my purpose, so now you are where I am as well.” Isaac felt unimaginable joy pulse within him.

“Thank you, Father! I am undeserving of such a gift.”

“That’s where you are wrong. Because of my son you are perfect in my sight. He has made you deserving of this place, and of me. This is what I want for all my children. You will bring them to me and reunite my family.”

Isaac knew there had always been a calling on his life, but he had never imagined it to be anything so overwhelming as what had just been revealed to him. The joy so recently inhabiting him was replaced by all encompassing doubt. Who was he that he could unite God’s family? He wasn’t a great speaker like his cousin, Dylan, or a military leader like Lucas. Dinah had always been able to connect with people with ease. Isaac had spent his life in relative solitude. His circle of friends had been loyal, but few. Of all the people in his life however, he had been most closely bonded with his father. It was that loss that had affected the trajectory of his life most profoundly. His dad had commissioned him with the responsibility to live out his faith. Now that commission had taken on an entirely new meaning.

“What is it that you doubt?” God spoke gently, without accusation.

“I doubt myself. There are so many more qualified people to do what you need done.” Shame colored Isaac’s cheeks.

“What you are saying is you don’t trust me to know what you are capable of better than you do. Though I have known you before you were even a thought, and designed you exactly as you are, you believe I am mistaken?” The lord posed the question in a such a way that Isaac felt as though he had hurt His feelings.

“No! Of course not, Lord! I trust you!” Isaac was desperate to convince him that his faith was sufficient even though he knew it was not.

“If you trust me, then you must trust yourself. I have created you for this purpose. I will give you strength when you need to be strong. I will give you wisdom and discernment when you need guidance. The path will not be easy, but I will be with you.” Each word brought comfort and confidence.

The scene before Isaac changed. Graffitied concrete replaced the garden. Rubble cluttered the streets amidst the monoliths that once symbolized the greatness a, now broken, city could barely hope to achieve again. People more closely resembling wraiths huddled in alleys between the fallen spires of man’s overconfidence. Their sunken cheeks and sallow skin belied tragedy ongoing and severe. Children, covered in filth, cowered behind their parents. Worse than their physical state was the emptiness in their eyes. Abject hopelessness pierced pools of innocence.

Isaac’s breath caught in his throat and tears stung his eyes as he recognized, possibly for the first time, the truly unmet need his world was now faced with. It was not their hunger, or their filth that struck him. It was the fear that limited their every movement. A fear that overtook every thought and brought worry that even a base existence was impossible. There was no light at the end of their tunnel anymore. Only more darkness, yearning, and terror.

Faith had become such a taboo subject with the rise of relative socialist ideals that the marginalized no longer had a servant. They had vocal champions, but voice was the extent of their actions. Those who had actually been the ones to minister to the poor were bullied into silence for their belief in right and wrong. Now the desolate were used as propaganda to advance a cause.   They were no longer human. In reality, they never were to the ones who paraded them out like mascots whenever they wanted to punish the wealthy or the righteous for their very existence.

In that moment, Isaac began to see the world through the eyes of the father. At first the sorrow nearly broke him, but then it released a rage at the injustice he could barely control. Isaac felt fire overtake him from the inside, a billowing inferno of white heat pouring out from a broken heart in righteous anger, ready to consume the evil that had created such loss.

“Lord, tell me how to stop this! I can’t let this continue!”

“I will show you the way. Your words will be my words.”

“I am ready Father! Use me for your purpose!”

The flames in Isaac’s soul began to build around him. They enclosed him and pressed in. He could no longer see the city or its people. The fire grew hotter the closer it drew to him, until he could no longer look upon it. Isaac closed his eyes and he could hear the crackling of the flames grow louder. Everything else was blotted out and there was nothing but heat and noise. In the moment Isaac was sure he would be overcome a great rushing wind quenched the flames and left him in silence.

“Arise and fulfill my purpose for you!” The word of the Lord was sheer power.

“Yes, Lord! I am but a tool in your hand.” Isaac’s words were a whisper in comparison to the voice of God.

“No, you are much more than that.”

Isaac’s eyes flew open and he found himself lying at the edge of the cliff. Devin was crouched over him, worry etched in every line of his face.

“Are you alright?!” The panic in Devin’s voice undeniable.

“I’m fine.” Isaac sat up as he spoke.

“What happened? One minute you were fine and the next you went rigid and nearly fell over the edge. I barely caught you.”

“I was with God.” Isaac didn’t know what else to say so he just spoke the truth.

“With God? What do you mean with God?”

“I mean he called me to himself and I was where he was.”

“Are you sure it was God? You were so hot I thought you were going to spontaneously combust at one point!”

“I’m sure!” Isaac couldn’t help but laugh.

“Well what did he tell you?”

Isaac smiled in awe as he recalled the word burned into his mind the moment before his eyes opened.

“I am going to make you the shepherd of my people.”

Check out all the chapters of The Mountain by Duane Deats

1. Ascent
2. Canyon
3. Resurrected
4. Precipice
5. Penitence
6. Solitude
7. Discord
8. Grapple
9. Encounter
10. Obsidian
11. Awareness
12. Blinded
13. Tempest
14. Shepherd
15. Obedience

She’s no longer pretty
In leather and lace
And now there are wrinkles
That cover her face

She leans on the stage
And she rocks back and forth
Her body’s gone south
As her age has gone north

But despite all of that
She is glad just to be
So close to the man
She has come here to see

Cause he’s an old rocker
And that’s how he still rolls
And the music’s his life
Not for riches he toils

His figure has changed some
He’s stooped and he’s bent
But he still has the magic
His gift, heaven-sent

He sees her before him
And he smiles to himself
They are two of a kind
Both fooling themselves

Their days now are numbered
And their night won’t be long
But here it’s still evening
And this still is her song

Knowing from previous experience the unpredictable nature of these tantrums, he decided to make himself comfortable on the overstuffed sofa to wait things out. Kieran thought how odd he must look as he danced his way through the chaos strewn across the floor. He had heard of tiptoeing through the tulips and nearly laughed at his own spectacle, treading carefully in an attempt to avoid the antique shards and their former floral residents. At six feet six inches tall and fifty pounds beyond the two hundred mark, he was not what anyone would call dainty. After he had eased his way down onto the sofa beneath the largest window that overlooked the Hudson, the newly minted silence became apparent. His trip through the mine field had left him the sole resident living in the crosshairs of an eerily quiet woman. Kieran was now in the eye.

“And what exactly do you think you’re doing?” Gretchen didn’t even pretend to hide her contempt.

“Waiting for you to tire yourself out.” Now that she was talking, Kieran knew he had to match strength with strength.

“You should be just as angry as I am! You were the one made to look a fool!” Her tone was venomous.

“And what good would it do for both of us to lose control? I much prefer sanity.” He never took his eyes from hers. To blink was to surrender.

“Sanity?! You expect me to be sane when some interloper dressed like a druid just stole our moment, and our crowd’s loyalty? He made them think!! There is nothing more dangerous to a mob than a conscience.” Acid scorched his ears with every syllable she uttered.

“What would you have had me do? Should I have strangled him with my bare hands? Leapt from the podium and crushed him? Showing concern would have been worse than anything he did. That would have been the weakness you fear so much.” Kieran remained implacable.

“Weakness? You think I fear weakness? You may not be as intelligent as I thought. I fear losing control. I am afraid of what our benefactor will do to us if we can’t control the masses. What concerns me even more is that you don’t share my fears. Why is that? Why are you not smart enough to be afraid?” Her derision was palpable.

“I am not afraid because death comes for us all. When and how is beyond my control, so why would I waste time being afraid? If my life is forfeit over this incident then so be it. Somehow I don’t believe that will be the case however. There is far more going on than we have been led to believe. I don’t like being a pawn, nor will I continue to be one, for anyone. I want to know what is really going on and who we are dealing with. Does that seem unreasonable to you?” Kieran posed the question as calmly as he could.

“If you had wanted to know what was really going on you would have asked before we got involved to start with. Changing the rules now is going to cost us far more than knowing the answers to your questions will gain us. What we need to do is find the man in the robes and execute him in the most public way possible. It is the only way to regain the momentum we had. The deadline is nearly upon us, and we don’t have nearly enough people to serve our purpose at this point.” Gretchen had regained her composure and was doing her best to appeal to Kieran’s logical side.

“Maybe you’re right, but I don’t intend to keep making the same mistakes I’ve already made.” Quiet resolve shown in the set of his jaw.

“Enough!” Gretchen screamed, “I won’t allow you to ruin everything I’ve worked for! Maybe you’re ok with going back to having and being nothing, but I’m not, and I won’t let you drag me down with you!”

Kieran rose from his seat and turned to face the hulking outlines of black on black that was the city skyline. He had known for some time that he was a tool of convenience for Gretchen. She would stay as long as he was useful to her, but her ambitions far outstripped his own. The idea of losing her was not one he relished, but the events of the day had given him pause. He had to look at his life and consider what he wanted it to be. The truth was that he was not satisfied with things the way they were at the moment. This was not the vision he had for this new world.

When the man in the hood demonstrated a power that required no violence, no intimidation, only a call to something more fundamentally human, Kieran recognized what he and Gretchen had missed in their approach. The man didn’t call for punishment. Just the opposite. He called for self-reflection, and mercy. What amazed Kieran was how quickly the bloodlust was silenced in that once ravenous mob. The connection the man was able to establish between the accusers and the accused was the key.

Kieran chewed on the words he needed to speak for a long moment before he faced Gretchen. In that moment, none of the beauty that had drawn him to her in the first place was visible. All he could see was the greed, the anger, and the jealousy that she had poured out all over their home. It was the confirmation he needed.

Just as Kieran drew a deep breath in preparation for what he knew would be as difficult a sentence as he had ever uttered, the lights in the room were extinguished. He heard Gretchen scream, a blood curdling shriek that left him both breathless, and desperate to save her from whatever horrors may have found her. Her cry was abruptly terminated, its end even more terrifying for Kieran than its beginning.

“Gretchen!” Kieran bellowed as he groped his way back toward the last place he knew her to be standing. This trip a far cry from his careful crossing earlier. The debris splayed across the floor proved even more treacherous in the pitch blackness than he imagined it to be in the light. The lack of response to his stricken call propelled him forward. Fortune was not with him however, and Kieran found himself half running, half crawling after the voice of a ghost. The remnants of the vase mercilessly tore at his hands and knees as he lurched through the dark. He could feel his throat constricting in panic as thoughts raced through his mind. What if he couldn’t reach her in time? What if the next thing he put his hand on was her lifeless form?

Before he could slip any deeper into the abyss of fear he was creating for himself, the lights exploded into brilliant existence. Kieran rolled to his back and covered his eyes in self-defense. With his eyes squeezed shut against the glare, he strained to hear any sign of Gretchen. His own breathing was all that greeted him. Kieran shifted his position so as to be able to get up while still shielding his eyes. He was not prepared for what he saw.

The room had been returned to its original pristine condition. Gretchen was nowhere to be found. It was as though her entire tirade had never happened. Confused and disoriented, all he could think of with any clarity was that he had not reached Gretchen in time. She was gone, who knows where, and there was nothing he could do about it. How had this happened? She needed him and he had failed her.

“You have not failed her. Yet.” A soft voice, full of power and intensity, brought the torrent of his thoughts to a grinding halt. Terror gripped him as recognition broke over his consciousness. Kieran spun toward where the voice had come from. What he saw left him paralyzed.

A man in an impeccably tailored black suit sat on the sofa beneath the window. He appeared to be completely at ease, his hands resting in his lap. When he spoke again, his colorless eyes burned.

“Kieran, I am disappointed.   You don’t seem pleased to see your master.”

Check out all the chapters of The Mountain by Duane Deats

1. Ascent
2. Canyon
3. Resurrected
4. Precipice
5. Penitence
6. Solitude
7. Discord
8. Grapple
9. Encounter
10. Obsidian
11. Awareness
12. Blinded
13. Tempest
14. Shepherd
15. Obedience

“Dylan,” she called his name softly, not wanting to scare him. Her cousin didn’t respond.

“Dylan.” Her voice was firm this time, but still Dylan didn’t stir.

“Dylan!” Desperation began to creep in this time and she shook him by the shoulders. Finally, a groan seeped from his inert form and she breathed a sigh of relief. His eyes fluttered open and she smiled, tears of gratitude flowing from hers.

“How did you find me?” His voice cracked as he tried to sit up.

“It’s a long story. What happened to you? How did you end up here?”

“I have no idea. I remember being attacked from behind on the rooftop. I didn’t even get to see who jumped me before being thrown off. I must have passed out on the way down and landed on a balcony or something. There’s no way I could have lived otherwise. I woke up on the slab, but I was sure I was dead. I’m not really sure what happened next. I must have been dreaming. It wasn’t actually possible.” His voice gave way on him at the end.

“Nothing is impossible anymore. Trust me.” Dinah stood and offered Dylan her hand. “Can you stand?”

“Yeah. I’m not hurt, just a little groggy.” He took her hand and found his feet. He also found himself in his cousin’s embrace. He patted her back and tried to reassure her. “I’m ok. I promise. I don’t know how, but I am.”

“You have no idea how worried I was. I just thank God you’re here, and alive.” Dinah squeezed him tighter for a moment longer and then released him, surveying the rest of him to make sure he wasn’t just playing off an injury.

“I gotta say, I’m pretty happy to see you too. I wasn’t sure how I was going to get back. Do you have a transport waiting?”

“Not exactly. You aren’t the only one with a tale to tell when it comes to ending up here.”

“What do you mean?” Dylan’s confusion was plain on his face.

“Let’s just say that my transportation was other-worldly.” Dinah couldn’t help but laugh at her own play on words. The day’s events had been so impossible, improbable, supernatural, that her only response could be joyous wonder.

“We can talk about it later. Right now we need to figure out how to get back without being caught.” Dinah started to move back toward the door she had come from when Dylan cried out in shock, causing her to start violently. “What is it?!”she shrieked.

“Y-you,” Dylan stammered, “You’re glowing!”

Dinah felt foolish for not remembering that there was ethereal light emanating from her very being. She also wondered how Dylan hadn’t noticed before now. She looked down sheepishly and mumbled, “I know.”

“What do you mean you know?” Dylan was still gaping at her.

“Well, it’s kind of hard to not know you’re glowing, don’t you think?” Dinah tried to make light of it.

“But, how?” Dylan clearly wasn’t going to let it go, not that Dinah could blame him. It had to be shocking.

“It’s a gift from God.” Dinah thought saying things simply would be the best way to position it.

“Wait! You say that like He gave it to you personally. Not like you have found out you have this gift, but like He actually gave it to you.” Dylan did not sound nearly as skeptical as Dinah expected him to be.

“He did. He brought me here to you.”

“I’m pretty sure He brought me here too,” Dylan hesitated, considering how best to say what he wanted to next, finally deciding to just say it, “I didn’t get to see Him clearly, but his voice. Dinah, it was your dad’s voice.”

“I know. That’s how he appeared to me too.” Dinah’s eyes glistened with the same emotion that thickened her voice.

“It wasn’t actually your dad though was it? I mean, it couldn’t have been, right?” Dylan was almost apologetic as he asked.

“No, it wasn’t actually him, but I think God knew that would be the most comfortable and familiar way for you and I to experience Him.” Dinah stepped forward and took her cousin’s hand with an encouraging smile, “I know there is more to your story here, but before we get lost in that, we need to get back. The others need to know you’re alive.”

“Yeah. Ok. Do you know where we are?”

“I was hoping you could tell me.”

“Well, I did get to explore some before I blacked out again. My best guess is the old public library.” Dylan hoped he was wrong. Getting back to headquarters from there would be treacherous at best, and suicide at worst.

“Gotcha. Well that will make this interesting. Have you seen any patrols go by?” Her tone had that forced optimism Dylan had always loved about Dinah. Even in the darkest moments, she had always been a light. He wasn’t sure she even realized she was doing it, let alone the impact it had on those around her.

“Interesting. Yes, it will definitely be interesting.” Dylan laughed as he spoke, unable to hide his amusement.

“What’s so funny?” Dinah narrowed her eyes at him as she spoke.

“Nothing. You just always know how to make things a little easier, that’s all.”

Dinah shrugged, “You’re welcome, I guess.”

“I haven’t seen anything in the area, but I’m not sure how long I’ve been here, and I haven’t been conscious the whole time so there’s no telling what is going on out there with any certainty.”

“Then we are just going to have to be careful,” she chirped.

“You think?” Dylan punched Dinah in the shoulder. It was his customary response to her sarcasm.

They worked their way back upstairs. Dylan still was a little unnerved by Dinah’s status as a literal beacon of light. He knew, though, his own life was a far bigger miracle. A vast number of unexplainable things had happened since he ascended to the rooftop of that tower. His cousin’s luminescence was really on the tame side when it came down to it. He recognized that a deviation from his long held expectations of the world was in order. Clearly, it was not still the world he had believed it to be. It was a world infused with power he knew nothing about. Dylan was surprised that he wasn’t uncomfortable in his new reality. Apparently he was not as attached to normal as he thought he was.

Lost in his own thoughts, Dylan nearly ran into Dinah as they reached the top of the stairs that led to library’s foyer. He was about to step around her when she threw her arm out and pushed him back behind her. He noted with curiosity that she was no longer glowing, then he realized why.

An array of armed men had created a perimeter around the outer edge of the room. It was clear from their matching black uniforms and equipment that these were not rebel forces. Dylan could see the insignia of the New World government on the arm patch of the soldier standing right in front of them. His back was turned and there had been enough noise in the room to allow their approach to go unnoticed.

Dylan rested a hand on Dinah’s shoulder as he leaned in to whisper in her ear, “There’s too many of them. We will have to find another way out.”

Dinah remained silent and stationary. She could feel power swelling in her chest. The immediate panic and fear that had exploded in her mind at her first sight of the soldiers had been overwhelmed by indescribable peace and confidence. Her father’s voice spoke in the back of her mind.

“You know you have but to ask,” he soothed.

“Thank you Father,” she whispered.

“Who are you talking to? Come on! We have to go!” Dylan tugged at her arm, and still Dinah remained steadfast.

“Dylan, do you trust me?” Dinah searched his eyes for the answer to her question.

“Yes,” he replied after an extended pause.

“Then follow me and believe.”

Dinah pushed the energy she felt in her core outward, all the while praying and giving thanks for His protection. Immediately cries of confusion rang out from the men. Their hands flew to their eyes clawing at the darkness that had suddenly gripped them.

“Let’s go.” Dinah took Dylan’s hand and led her bewildered cousin quietly through the chaos. More sentries poured in from other parts of the building to investigate the cause of the commotion and they too were blinded the moment they entered the foyer.

“How are you doing this?” Dylan gasped as he stumbled after Dinah.

Before Dinah could answer a searing voice burned through the cacophony, stopping them just feet from the front door.

“That’s far enough. I can’t have you leaving our little party before I’ve even gotten to meet the guests of honor.”

Check out all the chapters of The Mountain by Duane Deats

1. Ascent
2. Canyon
3. Resurrected
4. Precipice
5. Penitence
6. Solitude
7. Discord
8. Grapple
9. Encounter
10. Obsidian
11. Awareness
12. Blinded
13. Tempest
14. Shepherd
15. Obedience