There was a moment or two of silence, and then the helpers continued with the questioning. Thomas left them to seek out the Teacher and further instruction.
10.
Defending Your Life
Darla slept so deeply as a child that more than once, to rouse her from her slumber, her parents had had to shake her hard enough to almost cause bruising.
When two intruders broke into the house, Darla and Danny were sleeping so soundly the loud disturbance didn’t even register in their dreams. When her can-alarm sent the empty corn and juice cans crashing at the base of the stairwell, she stirred only slightly, immediately returning to sleep’s embrace. Even the sound of one intruder tripping over the secondary line and crashing down the stairwell didn’t break her torpor. Instead, it was Danny’s tugging her hair that caused her to bolt upright, even as her sleepiness pulled at her.
Panicked, Danny whispered, “There’s someone in the house.”
It wasn’t his alarm that shocked her to life, but his spectral form made pale by the night’s green light. Even as an adult, she hated how the night made everything more terrifying.
Not sure if he really heard anything or not, she chose caution. “Shhh, kiddo,” she whispered back, punctuated with her forefinger in front of her mouth. “Hide under the bed.”
She quietly slipped out of her Wonder Woman sheets, but clung to the spear gun, thankful for the protection it offered both of them.
A creak from the wood landing outside the door confirmed Danny’s warning.
She scurried across the carpeted room, taking cover behind the only dresser, pointing the spear gun at what she guessed would be chest-high, trying her best to mentally calculate for size based on the heavy footsteps she heard.
The bedroom door’s hinges groaned, and even in the murk, a pistol’s unmistakable outline poked in first. The door opened farther, as if by its own power, until it was wide open. The black space was occupied by a beast of a man. He looked right at Danny’s hiding place.
“Come out from under the bed, little boy, or I shoot you,” the throaty voice announced, an Arnold Schwarzenegger without the Austrian accent. He clicked the hammer back on the gun.
Darla’s brain yelled to her brother’s, don’t move - don’t move - don’t move, while she stared at his feet sticking out from under the bed.
“You, behind the dresser,” the voice called to her.
She wasn’t sure if it was her being more startled, or just deciding this wasn’t going to go well; the result was the same. She squeezed the trigger. In that moment, a chunk-flop came from the gun, the sound of the spear firing and then hitting tissue. She looked at the gun tip to confirm the spear had left and then up at the man, who glared at her from one confused eye.
The spear had connected directly with his left eye socket. He hovered, unsteady, saying only “Ah, wha—” and then collapsed forward, his weight pushing the spear through his skull and out the back side. Darla and Danny caught every millisecond of it, wide-eyed. Danny was so terror-stricken, he peed himself and screamed with all the power his lungs could muster.
“Yo, Frank, what happened? Where are you?” A voice from down below called and then she heard another set of footsteps bounding up the landing. Danny’s screams had given their position away for sure, if the man hadn’t heard his partner fall.
Darla looked at the empty spear gun, knowing there was no time to pump, load, and shoot it. So, she let go and scuttled like a crab toward the prone giant, searching the carpet for his gun. She peeked up and saw the other man’s head coming up the stairwell.
She felt the gun, snatched it and immediately started pulling the trigger over and over. A single crash stung her eardrums and silenced both her brother’s screams and the intruder’s advancing footsteps.
Holding her breath, she focused her eyes into the dark, searching for any sign of success. She remained motionless, partially from fear, but mostly in an effort to hear something from the other man. Her ears were ringing from the gun’s blast in the small bedroom.
Another creak, this one outside in the hall. Damn. She’d missed. Her heart beat so hard, she thought her chest would explode. The gun was empty, her spear gun was empty, and she was out of options.
The other man appeared at the master bedroom doorway and bolted toward their door.
Shocked at this turn, she involuntarily scuttled backwards until her back hit the wall. As the man came to the door, she second-guessed herself, instead rushing to protect Danny.
The man, watching her the whole time, paid no attention to his dead partner in the doorway and simply stumbled over the body. Inertia drove him forward, impaling his body on the spear tip jutting from the big man’s head.
He let out two breaths and then died.
Upon reaching her brother she asked, “Danny, are you all right?”
Kneeling beside his bed, he desperately attempted to take air into his lungs. The terror and excitement brought on an asthma attack.
“Danny, it’s all over,” she said quietly, trying to get his attention. “You need to breathe. Breathe like we practiced.” She said this while she reached in her bag and grabbed a glow stick. She snapped and shook it, and the room instantly brightened as if lit by a giant firefly. Danny looked paler still, but she didn’t know if it was from the light or his attack or both. She grabbed her bottled water, threw some of the capsicum powder she’d found earlier into it, and shook the bottle hard.
“Drink this.”
He grabbed the bottle with weak fingers and tried to drink, but most of the water was pouring out on him. She held the bottle and his hands as he gulped, coughing.
“Hot,” he said breathlessly.
“I know, kiddo, but it will help. Please drink some more,” she said as she tilted the bottle back, guiding more liquid down his throat. His breathing slowed.
“Okay, Danny, do what I showed you, with the breathing. Breathe-in-breathe-out,” she repeated, and he followed. His breathing slowed some more.
“Hot, my mouth is hot,” he complained.
She reached in his bag, pulled out his own bottle, and said, “Here, this is regular water.”
His breathing slowed some more as he took several gulps.
“I wet myself,” he said glumly.
“I think I did too.”
11.
Seeking Help
“We have nothing you need,” the pharmacist announced to Wilber as soon as the over-the-door bell jingled, even before Wilber opened his mouth. That struck Wilber as odd. He’d known Fred since birth. The young man’s voice quavered, when he usually spoke with such confidence, and his “Hello my name is Fred” badge was pinned upside down on a rumpled shirt that was usually pressed with distinct creases. Fred’s statement seemed true enough based on the bare shelves behind him—unless Wilber had a prescription for suppositories or heavy-duty vitamins, more suited to four-legged creatures than people.
“Wow, I can see that. At least tell me if Doc Reynolds is at home or is he making a house call now?” Wilber asked carefully, his tone reserved, not revealing he knew Fred was hiding something.
“Hell, Wilber, do I look like Doc’s secretary?” he shot back. In fact, Fred usually knew exactly where Doc was, calling him multiple times each day. Fred was more store manager than part-time pharmacy tech, and often relied on the doc’s advice when it came to recommending OTC medications and verifying whether prescriptions were legit.
“Thanks, Fred!” Wilber said, already walking away; he wanted to get moving to cure the apprehension he was feeling about Doc, and what was going on in the town.