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Authors: John D; Mimms
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it.
Everyone had become so involved in the argument; nobody took notice of Andrews who lounged a few feet away. They didnât notice when he rolled off the glider swing after he drained the remainder of a six-pack. He lay face down on the edge of the porch, one arm dangling mere inches from the dark underside of the porch. If he were awake, if he were sober, he might hear the faint clicking and hissing noise coming from the darkness beneath.
The women went back inside and started to prepare lunch. Nobody was hungry, however they had to eat. Ranking person or not, Major Garrison ordered it so. He felt like a jerk telling everyone to eat now, but he knew it was important they all keep their strength up. Most of all, he worried about Barbara. She couldnât eat.
Cecil sat down and gently rubbed her throat. He wasnât sure if she was in shock or a coma. She didnât appear to have any outward signs of injury, which was good. If her comatose state was psychological, it would be easier to deal with. The one thing he did know was that she could not eat or drink in her current nonresponsive state. To Cecil, this was as bad as anything else they faced. He knew Barbara could go for weeks without food, but she would only last a few days without drinking.
He thought about sitting her up and trying to get her to sip on a glass of water, but the last thing he needed to do was pour water down her lungs. Remembering his Army medical training, he went back into the kitchen and put several ice cubes into a metal mixing bowl. He then found a meat-tenderizing hammer and crushed them into a fine icy powder. He then took the bowl back into the living room and sat down beside her. Taking a pinch of ice between his thumb and forefinger with one hand, he parted Barbaraâs lips with the other. He then placed the pinch of ice between her cheek and gums. Cecil grabbed another pinch and repeated the process. After a few attempts, he sat back and watched with hopeful anticipation.
At first, she did not move and Cecilâs heart began to sink. He tried to fight back the tears when the reaction he hoped for didnât occur, yet just before he lost hope, it happened. Barbaraâs throat moved ever so slightly; she swallowed the melted ice. Cecilâs tears turned to tears of joy as he bent down and kissed her on the forehead. He then sat back down beside her and began the slow process of feeding her ice.
Cecil was so engrossed with Barbara, he did not notice Andrews come in from the porch and now stood a few feet away. He remained quite steady for a man who put away a half case of beer. The strange thing was that his countenance was lucid; one might even say he was stone sober. Andrews stood as rigid as a statue, watching until Burt entered the room.
âWhat the hell are you staring at?â Burt snapped.
Andrewsâs body remained still while his head swiveled ninety degrees until his eyes fell on Burt. The unnatural movement gave both men a moment of pause.
Terror flooded over them when they saw his eyes. Those were not the eyes of the temperamental jerk and alcoholic they knew. There was somebody else staring out through Sam Andrewsâs eyes. Someone calm, someone sober, someone calculating ⦠someone who called the dark their home.
âWhat ⦠what the hell?â Cecil stammered, moving to protect Barbara.
âWho the hell are you?â Burt demanded as he snatched a fireplace poker from the hearth.
Four words came out of the mouth of Andrewsâs. These four words were in his voice, but annunciated in such a way there was no doubt that Sam Andrews was not the one doing the speaking.
âMy name is Musial.â
CHAPTER 8
REBEKAH AND MALAKHI
âIn Israel, in order to be a realist you must believe in miracles.â
~David Ben-Gurion
Rebekah held her son in her lap for what seemed like hours. The world outside was a faraway and distant concept. The only thing they were conscious of
Everyone had become so involved in the argument; nobody took notice of Andrews who lounged a few feet away. They didnât notice when he rolled off the glider swing after he drained the remainder of a six-pack. He lay face down on the edge of the porch, one arm dangling mere inches from the dark underside of the porch. If he were awake, if he were sober, he might hear the faint clicking and hissing noise coming from the darkness beneath.
The women went back inside and started to prepare lunch. Nobody was hungry, however they had to eat. Ranking person or not, Major Garrison ordered it so. He felt like a jerk telling everyone to eat now, but he knew it was important they all keep their strength up. Most of all, he worried about Barbara. She couldnât eat.
Cecil sat down and gently rubbed her throat. He wasnât sure if she was in shock or a coma. She didnât appear to have any outward signs of injury, which was good. If her comatose state was psychological, it would be easier to deal with. The one thing he did know was that she could not eat or drink in her current nonresponsive state. To Cecil, this was as bad as anything else they faced. He knew Barbara could go for weeks without food, but she would only last a few days without drinking.
He thought about sitting her up and trying to get her to sip on a glass of water, but the last thing he needed to do was pour water down her lungs. Remembering his Army medical training, he went back into the kitchen and put several ice cubes into a metal mixing bowl. He then found a meat-tenderizing hammer and crushed them into a fine icy powder. He then took the bowl back into the living room and sat down beside her. Taking a pinch of ice between his thumb and forefinger with one hand, he parted Barbaraâs lips with the other. He then placed the pinch of ice between her cheek and gums. Cecil grabbed another pinch and repeated the process. After a few attempts, he sat back and watched with hopeful anticipation.
At first, she did not move and Cecilâs heart began to sink. He tried to fight back the tears when the reaction he hoped for didnât occur, yet just before he lost hope, it happened. Barbaraâs throat moved ever so slightly; she swallowed the melted ice. Cecilâs tears turned to tears of joy as he bent down and kissed her on the forehead. He then sat back down beside her and began the slow process of feeding her ice.
Cecil was so engrossed with Barbara, he did not notice Andrews come in from the porch and now stood a few feet away. He remained quite steady for a man who put away a half case of beer. The strange thing was that his countenance was lucid; one might even say he was stone sober. Andrews stood as rigid as a statue, watching until Burt entered the room.
âWhat the hell are you staring at?â Burt snapped.
Andrewsâs body remained still while his head swiveled ninety degrees until his eyes fell on Burt. The unnatural movement gave both men a moment of pause.
Terror flooded over them when they saw his eyes. Those were not the eyes of the temperamental jerk and alcoholic they knew. There was somebody else staring out through Sam Andrewsâs eyes. Someone calm, someone sober, someone calculating ⦠someone who called the dark their home.
âWhat ⦠what the hell?â Cecil stammered, moving to protect Barbara.
âWho the hell are you?â Burt demanded as he snatched a fireplace poker from the hearth.
Four words came out of the mouth of Andrewsâs. These four words were in his voice, but annunciated in such a way there was no doubt that Sam Andrews was not the one doing the speaking.
âMy name is Musial.â
CHAPTER 8
REBEKAH AND MALAKHI
âIn Israel, in order to be a realist you must believe in miracles.â
~David Ben-Gurion
Rebekah held her son in her lap for what seemed like hours. The world outside was a faraway and distant concept. The only thing they were conscious of
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