Free The Fourth Trumpet by Theresa Jenner Garrido Page B

patient, satisfied that they’d get what they wanted. Sooner or later.
    When Thor barked, Andrea jumped a foot. Deep, throaty barks that sent slivers of ice down her back. Swallowing, working up enough saliva to use her voice, she yelled, “Thor! Come here, boy. Thor! Come .”
    They heard a shrill yelp of pain, and then silence flooded over them once again. Andrea looked at Eleazar with panicked entreaty pouring from her blue eyes. The older man just shook his head and muttered, “‘The Lord will be a refuge for the oppressed, a refuge in times of trouble, and those who know your name will put their trust in You; for You, Lord, have not forsaken those who seek You.’”
    “Would you quit with the Bible quoting. Jeez! Something’s wrong. I have to go out there. Something horrible has happened.”
    “Dear girl, you cannot go out alone. It is too dangerous. What could a slip of a girl do where a full-grown man could not?”
    Andrea balled her fists and thrust her chin up, marched down the porch steps and stopped. She listened. She wanted to search for Keith and the dog, but her courage was melting like an ice cube in August. Fear prevented her from taking one more step.
    “He’s gone, isn’t he,” a small voice said behind her.
    Andrea whirled around in surprise. Carrie had come out onto the porch—arms wrapped tightly around her chest, but with eyes clear and focused. “Carrie. You startled me. You shouldn’t be up. How do you feel?”
    “I asked you a question, Andrea. Keith’s gone, isn’t he? First Rob. Now Keith.”
    Andrea shrugged, hands out in quiet supplication. “I don’t know.”
    “He’s been gone too long, hasn’t he? He should’ve been back by now. It got him, didn’t it? It got Rob and now it’s got Keith. It will get you. It will get me. And my baby.”
    Eleazar put an arm around the girl’s shoulders and tried to guide her back into the house. Carrie wouldn’t budge. “My husband’s dead. He’s left me. And now Keith has left me. Pretty soon everybody will leave and I will be all alone. What’s going to happen to my baby?” Her voice rose to a wail.
    At that, the pastor used more force and was able to turn her around. Pushing gently but firmly, he walked her through the kitchen and back into the living room. With one more look over her shoulder, Andrea followed. Her heart was a lump in her throat and tears were welling up and threatening to spill over. She didn’t think she’d much strength left either. If this was the way things were going to be, she wanted to die, too.
    The old man and the two young women sat down, each with a blanket and a brooding expression. The fire needed more logs, but Andrea had no strength or will to make the effort. Carrie was staring at the wall, and Andrea feared she was slipping back into her catatonic state. The minister was studying his hands. Andrea studied the bowed head, wondering what the man really believed.
    When he looked up, he smiled at Andrea. “I believe I will stretch out on this wonderful couch. Do you mind?”
    Andrea shook her head. “No, of course not. You must be exhausted. Do you want anything—a drink or something?”
    “No, thank you, my dear. I will rest my eyes for half an hour and then, maybe, we can have a little something to eat.”
    “Sure.”
    Eleazar didn’t say another word. He brought his legs up and stretched out. Leaning back on one of the throw pillows, he closed his eyes. His lips were moving, but no words were audible. Andrea guessed he was praying again. Uncomfortable with the minister and the catatonic woman huddled in her mound of blankets, Andrea crawled to her sleeping bag and got inside—shoes and all. She scrunched way down in its flannel folds, zipped it up to her neck, and closed her eyes. Maybe if she went to sleep, when she woke up, everything would be all right. Maybe.
    * * * *
     
    Andrea held her breath, waiting for the brute to trample her. But when its thunderous footfalls stopped