Back to the Dust ~ Mission Two

         Private First Class Jasmine Foley was from a shady apartment building in Cleveland. She grew up a pasty white girl, harboring an alcoholic father, who’d died when she was nine, and an out of touch mother. Yet, she quoted the Bible right along with Hosiah- the book of Psalms was her ‘beat’, as she liked to call these chapters that didn’t even rhythm. The bizarreness of it was that she quoted it right along with the fairy tales of the world. A popular thing with the village kids she and the others met.

         “Belief and magic…” she said. “A little of both can’t hurt.”

         “But your religion doesn’t believe in magic.” Drew had pressed her last year. Jasmine had nodded. “I’m not saying I believe in magic. But I believe in miracles and the life principles those stories teach. You know biblical mother-in-laws were just as evil as wicked stepmothers.”

         That was her logic. And she had dozens of pictures of smiling American and Afghani children to prove that it was working. She gave; that’s what Jasmine did. From orders, to a fourth of a chocolate bar. From a warm hug, to a can of tomato juice for the latest hangover. Course, she’d just as soon give you the butt whooping of your life or a GWS to the head if you crossed her.

         Hosiah and Jasmine had this thing where they put their foreheads together before each mission and whispered a verse; “Praise be to the Lord, my Rock, who trains my hands for war, my fingers for battle.”

         It was also from the Psalms, of course. But despite Drew’s general eye roll, there was no denying the trust, the reverence that was held in their voices when they spoke it. That came from somewhere, but he could hardly tell you the origin. Not that it mattered anyway.

         Then why do I spend more time thinking about it with every mission? Drew looked at the ceiling in his own puzzlement. It was true enough, every time he ran through the fire team personnel, he lingered a few more minutes on Foley and Schrader. It wasn’t like he was the only one who gave them grief, so it couldn’t be guilt.

         Probably their biggest ‘sympathizer’ would be Private Merle Holst, who’d been raised Roman Orthodox Catholic. His right hand rookie (by six months), Edward ‘Eddie’ Duro of carefree California wasn’t much help on either side of the fence, but what could you expect? They were the ‘kids’ of the group and it hadn’t taken long for them to become a dynamic duo of sorts. Eddie for one, was the kings of comics and Victoria’s Secret subscriptions. While he’d clearly stopped maturing at sixteen, the twenty-three year-old had procured enough stamina and patriotism to get into the Corp. And passing through the gauntlet wasn’t an easy task.

         The only member of their current team who hadn’t found the training utterly daunting was Merle. Merle Joseph Cletus Daniel Holst. Descending from five generations of Marine and Navy personnel, no one dared to tease him about his namesake. There was a joke though, that the Holst family’s sixty percent body fluid was all salt water. Where Merle was concerned however, the other forty percent was all iron muscle! Drew had been to his Kentucky home and seen his workout room; weights, elliptical, yoga mats (for his wife, Olivia), and six punching bags! He never missed an opportunity to better his body, sharpen his mind, or to show another man up. Competitiveness was his one fatal flaw, but it hadn’t pushed him to steroids yet, so the rest of the team lived with it.

         “We make it work.” Drew whispered, staring at the dots of the two fire teams in a moment of amazement.  They’d made considerable progress during his rehashing of the names behind the numbers. His colleges and supervisors rarely went beyond the numbers of their dots, keeping the missions clean-cut and professional. Zero distractions equaled zero mistakes. But when Drew and the 138th had started to build a track record, Drew found it hard not to put names to the numbers and then faces to the names. It was good for his motivation, knowing the people he was left in charge of.

         A sudden crack of static through his ears about knocked Drew out of his seat. “Paisley do you copy! Requesting systems update.”

         Drew’s eyes bounced to his watch. It had been over two hours since the drop. If they’d timed it right- and the 138th’s boots were rarely out of synch- they were a thirty-minute jog from the village. Go time, baby!

         Contrary to popular belief, the mountains were not the only spot were reception could go dead. It was all about power lines and signal strength. Right here, right now, there would be no video surveillance, outside of thermal imaging, and barely seventy percent guarantee of radio coverage. The government and the Marines would prefer ninety-nine percent, but then their missions wouldn’t be labeled ‘special operations’ if it were any higher. Besides, supply houses were a big deal; it hadn’t taken the Secretary of the Navy long to ‘ok’ what Drew called a ‘go-n-grab’.

         “All signals remain clear, Sultan.” Drew informed Emery, typing away. “I’m zeroing the satellite in on the village…” He turned his tunnel vision over every inch of the dark-blue screen. “Scans show five heat signatures, two outside the eastern most building; three inside.”

         “That’s a pretty cocky number.” Eddie remarked.

         “Intel only put high numbers of hostels around when a transaction occurs.” Jasmine breathed back. “That won’t be until tomorrow morning.”

         “And they’ll deliver it right in our hands.” Eddie sighed. “ How nice of them to…”

         “Duro, you can that stinking mouth or you’ll be tasting nothing but my boot when we get back to base.”

         “Yes, sir.”

         Drew chuckled before returning to his report. “All quiet, Christmas Goose. No ground or aerial transport detected within the last eighteen hours. The signal might weaken the closer you get to the hills on your north…”

            It wasn't much more then a puff in his ear. Swift and sudden, like the irritating eye test you always had to take. Drew didn’t think anything of it in the nanosecond before the next three sound segments; a crunch, a groan, and Jasmine’s scream. “CONTACT LEFT!”

*To Be Continued* 

Back to the Dust ~ A Military Mini-Series

'Therefore, put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, 

you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand.'

~ Ephesians 6:13~

          Their helicopter was landing. Drew listened to the harsh swirl of the blades as commands and radar checks pinged between the two pilots. They were his only window to what was really going on. And even then, they were no better then a smokescreen. The pulsing red dots on the Pakistani border, bleeping away on his computer screen didn’t rectify the matter, but it was as good as it was going to get for him.

         “Ground impact, 2200 hours Paisley.” Sergeant Emery confirmed, the static tickling both their earwigs. Drew nodded, pressing zoom- really keys Alt+Enter- on his keyboard. “Roger that, Emery. Thermal sweep continues to show no activity. Operation Christmas Goose is a go.”

         “Man,” Private Duro whined. “We are never letting you pick the codename again.”

         “You focus on your mission Duro and not its name.” Private First Class Foley ordered, followed by the click of a safety. “We’re going in hot.”

         Drew shook his head. Only Jasmine Foley could deliver the language of a street cop with the sincerity and authority of a U.S. Marine.

         “Ready to deploy.” the pilot announced; Drew’s cue to sit back against his comfy spinning chair. Srgt. Emery’s commands mixed with the chatter of the helicopter and Privates Holst and Humriche, who grunted to the ground first. Then Lance Corporal Schrader thudded to the earth and Drew could just picture the ground shaking in all directions. Legend was when the Georgia ‘black boy’ had signed up in ’01, he was six foot one at only age nineteen. By ’05 he had put on another six inches and was still growing!  After thirteen years of service, he should’ve been a Sergeant Major by now, but he liked where he was. The rest of the Marine Corp liked it too.

         Foley and Duro were close behind their mountain of a teammate. And last off, Corporals Pruitt and Koehler and of course Srgt. Emery himself. He spoke briefly with the pilot and the helicopter faded away. Quiet settled in… intense quiet. Not a breath was heard. Drew pressed a finger to his lips, typing in codes with the other hand. Encrypted messaging back to the base, acknowledging a safe landing. “How’s it looking, Sultan?”

         “Dark.” Emery answered and there were the faintest exhales in agreement. Another moment passed, than came Jasmine’s whisper. “East side’s quiet, sir.”

         “West side clear, sir.” Schrader responded. That’s what these missions were all about; response. Only a good Marine could pull it off because he’d know what the question was before it was even thought of.  Efficiency, precision, and focus. That’s what Drew saw in a Marine, among other things.

         “Give us our eyes, Paisley.” Corporal Koehler grunted, just as the team’s eight GPS signals turned into a bright green cluster. Drew sat at attention, his senses cutting out anything that would otherwise distract him. Wasn’t hard, him being the only warm body in the room.

         For operations like these, he was cleared of the assistance of any fellow ‘techies’ in what a few called ‘The Hive’ because of all the first-grade material that buzzed and hummed 24/7. This was the office that the troops turned to when their equipment in the Middle East didn’t cut it. Satellites, GPS, encryption, decryption… it was all tucked into a 25’x30’ D.C. office space of cushy seats and dim lighting. The contrast was amusing when Drew thought of the soldiers on the other end, belly-first in sand and brush, unable to get up and visit a vending machine when they felt like it.

         “Paisley.” Srgt. Emery checked in. “How are we looking?”

         “All accounted for Sergeant.” Drew backtracked, re-enhancing his zoom to a ten-mile radius around the dots. “Your course remains east-by-southeast. ETA, approximately three hours.”

         “Copy that.” Emery affirmed. “A year ago I would’ve had to ask for that information. You’re finally riding the same wave length, Paisley.”

         The closest thing you’d ever get to a compliment from Scott Emery. Drew caught a chuckle in his left ear; Humriche. “Our little stork’s growing wings, eh.”

         Drew’s ears flamed at the lankiness that had stuck to his frame since high school. Being a science geek and an asthmatic, he would have been doomed to social exile, if not for his fortunate gift in retorts. He leaned into the screen, eyeing Humriche’s dot. “Not for long. I’ve been bulking up with all these Milky Ways hidden in my desk.”

         There didn’t have to be a visual for Drew to know that he’d hit home. Caramel was Alec Humriche’s weakness, but put it with the milk chocolate of a Milky Way and he was putty in your hands.

         “…I will reach through these wires and yank the drums outta both y’all’s ears.“ Schrader thundered… in the lowest possible voice. “No jokin’ til an hour into our trek. That’s an order.”

         Corporal Koehler’s brash voice joined in. “Whenever you ladies are done, feel free to help me stop the war on terrorism.”

         There were chuckles between Jasmine, Duro, and Private Holst. They were the good students that stayed out of trouble. After that, they went dark. Drew unclenched his headset, placing it on the keyboard. The green dots were his only link now, until Emery made contact again. Normally, a fire team’s only channel was between themselves and the base camp; in this case, over 200 miles away back in Afghanistan. There were times however, when dead air or a mountain range came between the two. That’s where the middle men- like Drew- came in.

         “The clove hitch keeping us together.” Was how Jasmine Foley had introduced herself to him three years ago, when he first heard her voice. Drew had needed to look up ‘clove hitch’ before deciding to take it as a compliment. In a way, the reference made sense. The teams’ earwigs went straight to him, where he had their base on speed dial if need be. He was the knot holding two vital ropes together. It all sounded more complicated- definitely more expensive- yet it was actually more covert this way. Hence safer.

         “Like anything they do is considered safe.” Drew sighed at his screen. Three of the dots, Privates Holst and Humriche, along with Corporal Pruitt of Fire Team 2, were inching forward, creating a fan in front of the others. There were eight in all. Eight Americans trailing along in enemy dust on Christmas Eve. Willingly.

         Four inches of screen ahead of their dots- about seven miles in reality- were the outlines of buildings. A village- twelve houses at best- on generally flat land. Reasonable intel received almost two months ago pinpointed this village as a possible way station for supplies between Taliban encampments. Reasonable enough to set up surveillance and then arrange for a closer look. That’s where Drew and his pals of the 138th came into the picture. He, Jasmine, Schrader, and Pruitt had been running missions under Srgt. Emery for three years from DC and Virginia, from Iraq to the Yemen. Corporal Brent Koehler had been on the scene two years, bringing Alec Humriche and Merle Holst with him. Private Edward Duro was the newest addition to the team, but he was already a regular drinking buddy with everyone else when they showed up stateside.

         Every one of them had started as a private under Scott Emery, whose nickname, ‘The Sultan’ stemmed from the salt-n-pepper hair he had had since he was thirty. But thanks to his Italian roots, he aged gracefully; no one would dare tell him otherwise. His battalion and fellow officers feared and respected him too much.

         As stoic and tight-lipped as Srgt. Emery was, his second-in-commands were the complete opposites! Corporals Brent Koehler and Mason Pruitt were open books, the life of the party, only with nuggets of wisdom thrown in. Koehler had married twice before finding Monja, his mother ship of patience and dedication. Being stepfather to her daughter and two sons gave Brent a raw perspective on home life and what made a family.  What every Marine always came back across the Atlantic for, but that wasn’t even the best thing about him. The man’s tastebuds were legendary! He could eat any food from any country and pick out the exact ingredients used to make it. And Brent would eat anything to prove it too… his personal favorite was Cherry Cola soda mixed and frozen in vanilla bean ice cream. Drew’s stomach churned at the thought of all that sugar. He was a nutritionist himself; Koehler had been trying to convert him for years.

         “No man-or woman,” Drew nodded at the slowly scattering dots. “Can measure up to Mason’s stories though, can they.”

         Mason Pruitt took more shore leave then the rest of his brothers in arms, dedicated to teaching and shaping future generations of the Corp in Quantico. He gave lectures at schools and universities across the U.S. as well. And he still found time to come home to his wife and kids… all seventeen of them!

         He and wife Brenda were foster parents like no other, taking in the abandoned infants, abused ten-year-olds, and troubled teens since 1993. It seemed like and impossible lifestyle for any serviceman to uphold, but Mason was doing it. Course, Kids #14-17 were the only ones actually living in the house. But the Pruitts' address book held all the contact information of the others. And Mason wrote to them- all of them- once a month. Everyone had tried to give him the nickname ‘Beardsley’ after Frank and Helen, but Mason never cottoned to it. He was easy-going, but there was no nonsense when he put on the uniform.

         Drew erected off the back of his seat as he spotted dot M-6 pause. Their pace was slow to begin with, due to the cyber gauge of distance, but Drew had been staring at these screens long enough to notice a discrepancy. He switched his head com back on. “Srgt. Emery, pause in ranks noted; requesting verbal status.”

         He got a swear word as a reply. “Only forty minutes in, are you kidding me?! Humriche…”

         “Sir,” came the sheepish answer. “What makes you so sure it’s me, sir?”

         “Who else drank two lemon-lime Gatorades after six’o’clock.” Duro snickered. The rest groaned and all dots halted while Alec did what needed to be done. Drew smiled, even while the situation remained serious. If Mason Pruitt was a model student, then that made Private Alec Humriche the class clown. He was a good Marine, but always up for a laugh. Laughs that got him chewed out by Emery, Koehler, or worse, by Jasmine. It was funny how Drew was younger then him, yet always felt like the older brother watching the younger get busted.

         Alec lacked social graces and suffered lapses of judgment where girls were concerned, but he had one special skill the battalion couldn’t live without; languages. The man of 1,000 tongues, Alec was fluent in Arabic, Hebrew, French, Swahili, and Spanish. He had been obsessed with dialects and syntax all his life, growing up by an Indian reservation in South Dakota. The obsession led to him studying abroad in three countries before joining the Corp in 2008. He and Drew kept a gag running where Drew spoke to him in ‘geek’ about servers, IPs, and algorithms, leaving Alec to curse him in whatever language he chose.

         “Forward ho, Srgt. Emery, sir.” Alec whispered. There was a disapproving grunt. “I became the laughing stock of my people; they mock me in song all day long. They’ll be playing yours when we get back to base, Private.”

         “I think my beard grew another inch waiting on him.” Duro sighed. “Schrader, what book is that one from?”

         “Lamentations.” the Lance Corporal told him. “Felt appropriate.”

         “Amen.” mumbled Koehler before Emery took back command. “Keep those eyes sharp, Paisley. Going dark.”

         “Going dark.” Drew copied and commenced radio silence again. Hosiah Schrader’s reference played back in his mind, cracking a grin at Alec’s embarrassment. Hosiah Schrader could apply his biblical knowledge to just about anything. He’d called it his sword before, a double-edged sword of verses and parables. The only weapon he could really count on.

         As far as AK-47s and Carbine 11s went, Drew didn’t see a fifteen-hundred-page book holding up much of a defense. But Hosiah had grown up in the South, the holy grail of fried chicken, home remedies, and Baptists. He had seven kids, a teenage daughter and two sets of triplets, 11 and 6 years old. Verse memorization was their bond over every letter, every phone call, and every Skype session. Hosiah drilled God’s Word into them- into everyone around him- like there was no tomorrow. He was a big guy with an even bigger heart; perseverance, character, and hope, that was his motto. And even that was out of the book of Romans.

            You use ‘the South’ as his excuse you know. Drew hunkered down a bit, shamed by the unconscious bias. But then, how did he explain Jasmine Foley?

*To Be Continued*

Slain

           

         The heat could blister her skin into the new age of cancer and Kaycee wouldn’t care. With her Midwest arm out of the Jeep window, she ran her fingers through the warm, dry air with pleasure. Back home, it was thirty-seven with sleet and here she was under the balmy eighty-two sun. Her boyfriend, Kendall drove her and their friends along a steaming gray ribbon through the New Mexico desert, which would eventually lead to Four Corners. In the back, over the harmonious vocals of Casting Crowns, her childhood friend Cain fought with Jan over the last ho-ho.

            “How can you eat anything else?” Kaycee tilted her head back so they’d hear her above the rushing wind. “You guys practically bought out the gas station of its junk food.”

            Cain and Jan’s faces morphed into wounded gasps. “This is not junk food, Kaycee! Donuts, Little Debbie, and Gatorade are the stables of a road trip.”

            “They’re also the reason we have to stop every hour.” Kendall grumbled over the growing wind. 

            “Were we the ones who bought a 32 oz. Pepsi?” Cain nudged Kaycee’s shoulder, making her blush. “The one time I splurge and you guys won’t let it go.”

            “It was this morning!”

Kendall glanced at Kaycee out of his peripheral, but kept driving to stay out of the conversation. He was the designated driver for their second day of travel. The four had found themselves fortunate enough to have spring break all on the same week this year. Being in three separate states, that was a small miracle. Kaycee would’ve been content to go home, but Cain had insisted it was the perfect time to get acquainted with his Navajo roots. Plus, Jan was studying in Albuquerque and he missed her.

“Her Pepsi, your ho hos…” Kendall griped as Kaycee batted Cain back. “And all I get is the gas bill.”

Cain shrugged, arm around Jan. “Told you not to eat that burrito-“

“Ewww!” Jan cried with Kaycee, jabbing Cain’s ribs. In that same moment Kaycee burped, which sent Cain reeling with laughter. Blushing even harder, Kaycee went back to watching the desert fly by. She had to smile; these moments of happiness and friendship… Thank you, God. 

The rest of the jeep settled down, falling in sync with the same content Kaycee found herself in. She thought of starting up a sing-along as C.C. started ‘Come Thou Font’. Jan would join her and they would spend a few hilarious minutes getting the boys to harp in. The song, however, didn’t make it to the second line before cutting out. Than back in, then back out again.

“What gives?” Kendall messed with the volume.

“Dead spot?” Cain suggested, leaning back up. Kaycee almost knocked foreheads with him. “It’s a CD. We’ve played it so much, it might be damaged.”

“Then the whole radio is too.” Kendall pointed. The display flicked on and off, same as the music. Kaycee’s stomach flip-flopped. She hated the thought of car trouble. 

“I’ll pull over and check the battery.” Kendall decided, shifted the jeep to the side. 

“Go the extra two miles to that sign up there.” Jan pointed ahead at the lone billboard. “Kaycee and I can get a photo while you men take care of business.”

“So sexist.” Cain teased her. Jan stuck her tongue out. Kaycee gave silent thanks for her friend’s optimism. Kaycee, while she tried, was more pessimistic… especially when it came to any kind of vehicle. But that was because anything with wheels hated her. She couldn’t go a month without engine trouble or a flat tire. Kaycee would take walking any day… even in the four-foot snowdrifts back in Vermont.

“Hear the word,” Jan was reading off the billboard as Kendall eased the jeep into park. “Live the word… oh, it’s advertising a church.”

“Pretty good slogan.” Cain remarked, climbing out after Kaycee. Kaycee arched her back so the sun blinded her, Jan jumping out beside her. While they stretched and found the camera, Kendall looked over the radio and Cain popped the hood to check the oil- so he’d feel useful. Jan got a couple snapshots of him flexing his muscles, and then Kaycee joined in, giggling at their ‘grease monkeys’. She handed the camera back to Jan. “Get me in a panoramic with the desert. It’s so big!”

“Ok.” Jan readjusted the focus as Kaycee ran several yards into the golden-red dust. The bushes were the only resemble of shade, minus the billboard’s, stocked behind it like a cape. She turned around as Jan yelled. “Squat down! It’ll look like you’re carrying the mountains on your shoulders!”

Good idea. Kaycee sent her a thumbs up, squatting. Jan held the camera to her face, growing still. Kaycee waited, but Jan stayed still. In fact, her stillness changed. 

“Jan?” Kaycee frowned. “Did it take?”

“KAYCEE!” came the terrified cry. “Get back here!”

Some friendships ran so deep that when certain questions were asked, you listened. There was that much trust between them and Kaycee launched herself forward. She hadn’t made it five steps before her foot hit something and sent her sprawling. Kaycee hit the ground, coughing and retracting her shin from the hot griddle of its surface. It was so hot… deceptively so, given the breeze…

FILTHY CHILD!

Kaycee froze from investigating her trip, not daring to look toward the whisper. Instead her mind flung into action, throwing up its steel walls and double-locked doors. Oh come thou font of every blessing-

THAT THE BEST YOU CAN DO! The whispers laughed. NOT STRONG ENOUGH FOR HIS WORDS, YOU DRAW UPON THE WORDS OF MAN? PATHETIC!

Kaycee’s mind reeled, searching for the right weapon, but the attack had come so suddenly… so strong. It chilled her, even in the baste of the heat.

“Kaycee!”

Kaycee lifted her head, intending to yell back at her friends, her brothers and sister in Christ Jesus… but instead she caught sight of the object that’d tripped her. Immediately, her heart swelled. Lord, give me strength. 

AND WHY SHOULD HE.

“Man does not live by bread alone!” Cain shouted, his voice close. “By the words of our Savior in Christ Jesus, get behind us, Satan!”

There was a familiar hissing, from pain at her friends’ words, shouted in spirit and conviction. I’M ALREADY BEHIND HER, FOOL! YOU THINK IT MATTERS WHICH DIRECTION.

“They’re coming!” Jan cried, her voice high with fear. “I saw them! In the camera, from every direction!”

Her words hit Kaycee with a realization. The radio wasn’t broken. There’d been no need for Kendall to check the battery, no need for them to…

“A time to tear down and a time to build!” Kendall shouted out. He was drowned out by Cain’s sorrowful cry. He fell to his knees, a few feet from Kaycee. She couldn’t look directly, but she saw the enemy on his back, hideous as ever. 

REMEMBER ME?

They all remembered. Five years or fifty couldn’t erase the memory of that battle. Caine would always bear the scars and they would bear the loss of a friend, his soul lost to hell. Kaycee’s breathe still left her in horror at the thought of Van.

A TRUE DISCPLE WOULD’VE SAVED HIM.

Tears in her eyes added to Kaycee’s confusion. She clutched her hands, shaking with fear… wait, what was she clutching? Kaycee looked down; wood? Like a wave, hope surged through her and she gathered the strength to scream. “There’s a cross here! Get to the cross- in the name of the Father, come to the cross!”

Her words were sent out like a shockwave, repelling the demons back. There was several clinging and leering from the dry brush and cracked cacti. Kaycee’s sight cleared, pulling herself up as the others joined her. At their feet laid a cross, fourteen feet in height, furrowed in dust of many weeks. Forgotten, unattended, and uprooted. It needed to be replanted!

“Cain, take that end.” Kendall ordered, leaping over the stem. “Jan, you and Kaycee dig a hole!”

Jan was grabbing Kaycee’s wrist then to a spot at the base of the cross. The dirt proved soft enough and they dove in with both hands. The voices kept on in their taunts and tearings, causing Kendall to stumble when he and Cain started lifting the cross. Cain huffed. “C’mon man! All things are possible through Him who gives us strength! Let me see that strength, brother!”

Kendall re-gripped the cross, where Jesus’ left hand would’ve bled out. “I… God…”

“Faith as small as a mustard seed.” Kaycee cried out over a wind that was growing again. “And what? Kendall, WHAT!?”

Kendall strained, eyes to the glinting sun. “Say to this mountain, move…” he rose to his feet, grunting with the weight. “And it will!”

“Praisie Abba Father.” Jan choked in awe and dust. It was getting so they couldn’t see. But not from the dust; the sun! It was burning bright… not hot, just bright. The demons were shrieking now, their own terror turned on them as Cain and Kendall pushed the cross higher and higher. Kaycee and Jan dug for all they were worth, bouncing Scriptures from one mouth to the other like a Gospel tag team. 

“Put it in.” Jan ordered. Kaycee faltered. “It’s not deep enough.”

“Do notdoubt the power of God.” Jan responded fiercely. “It’ll stay. He’ll make sure of it.”

IT’LL FALL… JUST LIKE YOU ALWAYS DO.

“No!” Kaycee grabbed the foot of the cross and guided it to the hole. Splinters snagged into her palms, but she only worried about pushing the dirt back and packing the beam in tight. Still the wind blew and the sunlight increased ten-fold. Kaycee felt the weight across her back; but it didn’t burn. She risked a squint above, where the cross loomed straight. She breathed out. “Finished. It’s finished, Lord.”

Jan’s hand squeezed hers as Cain and Kendall knelt beside them, surrendered around the cross. Arms around each other and heads bowed low, they waited. The heat grew immense, cutting off all the whispers and shrieks.

Then, it was still. It was quiet.

It was peaceful.

Kaycee opened her eyes, looking up cautiously with the others. Cain’s forehead rested on the cross. Jan took her breath in great gulps to keep from hyperventilating. Kendall’s arms loosened from around her to look behind them. Kaycee gave another line of prayer before copying him. There was nothing but the desert. God’s desert, reclaimed!

“Jan.” Caine got their attention on Jan’s face, pale and exhausted. Kaycee was certain they all looked like that. Jan eased her hand into Caine’s eyes hardened in determination. “I’m okay.”

“We all are.” Kaycee swallowed, her heart falling back into her chest. “Praise God.”

THE END