The Fourth Trumpet by Theresa Jenner Garrido Page B

do that. Yet .”
    Father Joe grimaced and added his own chuckles to the old man’s. Keith and Andrea grinned and Carrie was alert enough to look amused.
    “What happened next?” Keith prompted. “You got those cuts and bruises from more than a close brush with fire.”
    “Yes. After three futile attempts to reach the tabernacle, I caught a glimpse of a figure running behind the church. Thinking I could at least catch the perpetrator of this heinous crime, I chased after him. I’m still a fairly decent sprinter—won a few awards in college—so I’d no trouble catching up to the guy. It’s funny, but I’d really messed my hands. I guess trying to open the tabernacle. But I didn’t feel any pain— then . I sure do now.”
    He raised his bandaged hands and studied them for a moment. Andrea spoke up. “Do you want some aspirin? I’m afraid that’s the extent of our medical supplies in the way of pain killers.”
    The priest’s grin was lopsided. “Yes, that would be great. Thanks.”
    Andrea got the aspirin and a glass of juice, and Eleazar held the glass to the man’s lips.
    Keith pressed him to continue. “You haven’t told us everything.”
    “Okay. Let’s see. Well, I caught up with the guy and managed to tackle him to the ground. I remember yelling something like ‘why? Why did you torch my church?’ but he only growled something unrepeatable and slammed me onto my back. That’s when I realized my hands weren’t working as well as they should. I tried to hang onto him, but couldn’t. Hurt too much.”
    “The guy beat you up?”
    “Well, he tossed me around a bit. It was my stupid tenacity that forced him to throttle me—probably more than he wanted. He was desperate to get away, and I was just as determined to stop him from doing so. He seemed almost frenzied with wanting to escape. That’s when I saw-I saw—I’m not sure what I saw, but it wasn’t from God.”
    “You saw them. You saw the-the things . The monsters.” Andrea’s voice rose in pitch.
    “I saw something horrible. The punk pushed me down and tore into the woods. I was scrambling to get up when when the creature or whatever it was pounced on me. Dear God, it weighed a ton. I could smell its foul breath, hear its raspy breathing. I remember saying a prayer—well, screaming it, actually—and then, suddenly, the monster let me go and loped off down the road. Man, I hurt so bad, I was afraid I’d pass out. I had the presence of mind to grab my lantern, then limped and hobbled, and practically crawled into the woods. I didn’t give a hoot anymore whether the punk had gotten away or not. I was too intent on getting me away from the-the thing , as you call it. I was afraid it would return. I was easy prey.”
    “Yes, we’ve seen several of those-those things ,” Andrea added, more subdued. “They’re awful.”
    “I’ll say. Too awful to describe sanely. Anyway, I continued to push my way through the woods, tripped over something and fell really hard. Hurt like the dickens, too, but I finally made it to the road. No one around. And, I have to confess, this frightened me more than I ever remember being frightened before. I was alone. And really feeling awful. I couldn’t believe that no one was around. Seemed impossible in a town our size. But I was alone. No cars. No people flocking in morbid curiosity to see a church burn down. My good friend, Charlie Johnson, the Methodist minister right across the street, didn’t even come out. That really disturbed me. We’re good pals and help each other do odd jobs around both our churches. I called for him but he never appeared. Like the end of the world, and I was left behind. No pun intended.”
    “I felt that way, too,” Andrea said. “I still feel that way.”
    Nobody talked after that for a full five minutes. Each sat in the silent labyrinth of his or her private thoughts. Each was miles away from the darkened living room in the cold house at the bottom of an impossible