Finding Hope

Finding Hope

A Novel by K. G. Broas

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical including photocopying, recording, or by any storage and retrieval system without permission from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidence either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used factiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons living or dead event or locales is entirely coincidental.  Special thanks to The Mountain Goats for inspiration through their wonderful music. This book was printed in the United States of America.

Copyright 2014 K.G.Broas, Second Edition

ISBN-13: 978-1496190925

ISBN-10: 1496190920

All rights reserved.

To my wife and three amazing children…

“Travel with swiftness, for time is short. There are signs all around us of impeding danger. Focus on all connections within our system and not just what we’re being shown. This story of men is coming to a climax and there’s much at stake. GODSPEED…”

Chapter 1

Desperation

Dry, arid heat strangled all signs of life except for the sound of running in the distance. With concrete crumbling underfoot, the young woman fled through the newly built development. Thick, golden sunlight flashed through the low trees, painting patterns on her flushed young cheeks. Turning towards the darkening sky, she slipped across the yards. Dashing, gasping, trying to escape the terror, she collapsed behind a burned-out 2003 Jeep Liberty. “Did they see me? Are they coming?” she whispered to herself in horror.

Peering through a small gap in the black-snarled steel, she saw the men enter her street. There were six of them, barely men, walking in formation nearly a hundred yards away. Two of them were carrying machetes while the others criss-crossed the overgrown brown lawns. The boys were laughing, calling loudly, as they moved among the abandoned homes.

“Hey sweetie, we just want to talk. Come on out – we ain’t gonna hurt ya. We got food,” they shouted, voices echoing across the desolate neighborhood.

Seeing an opportunity to duck away, the terrified teen slid out from behind the car into
the nearby shrubs. Crawling among the crisp, thirsty branches, she pushed through the clawing hedge. The afternoon sun hung low in the summer sky, making it impossible to escape. She’d be seen if she left her hiding place, but to stay was surely suicide. Like an animal, she pushed forward, scurrying beneath a low deck that took her around the back of the house. Once out of sight, she crawled without regard to the creatures that live in dark, damp places. Reaching the back yard, she spilled out from below the deck and ran across the small adjacent field, like a soldier deep behind enemy lines.

The young men looked wretched, with dirt and grime gathering around the moist grooves in their faces. Hair snarled and tangled, clothing ripped and torn, they looked like a pack of wild carnivores. Cackling and howling, with empty eyes and blackened souls, the vicious boys pushed into the upper-class development near the outskirts of town.

“Where do you think she went? She couldn’t have gone very far,” the youngest snarled.

“She’s around here so
mewhere. Just keep on pushing. We’ll find her,” the oldest boy remarked. They continued, acting as one – a virus looking for a host.

Fleeing the nightmare and reaching the trees, she crashed through the low overgrowth and into the shadows and speckles of the last afternoon sunlight. Emerging out of the small stand of trees, she ran like a jack-rabbit trying to escape its predators. She darted through the yards, across the neglected landscape, until she reached the entrance of the once-beautiful development. Collapsing under the sign that stood at the front like a granite monolith, she looked up and read the finely engraved letters: Wildflower Estates.

The smell of death and decomposing bodies hung heavy in the evening air, dancing around her nostrils. She sat in silence, unable to move, partly out of terror but mostly because she had accepted her fate. She drifted back to a kinder time, sitting alongside father and mother, watching television. Images of nature and the animal kingdom splashed across the tiny TV, as she discovered her connection to the planet. She startled herself, with bursts of involuntary giggling as she lied on the ground terrified. In the distance she heard her pursuers cackling like hyenas, searching for their prey. She felt a kinship with them, she understood their desperation – these were days of survival, blackening the social bonds of humanity.

Finding the strength to jump to her feet, she ran across the abandoned interstate into town. Dashing across empty parking lots, the young woman ran for her life. In the distance
she could see her old friend, Walmart, standing as a symbol of better times and simpler days. Hearing the boys calling out behind her, she ran silently. Desperate to escape, she slipped into the giant warehouse through a large broken window. The empty space was black and silent. Empty shelves and clutter stretched out before her. Through the rows and rows of empty shelves she stumbled until she reached the center of the giant space. She found a hiding spot just below a camera kiosk, out of sight and deeply alone.

Magazines, books, and other assorted junk brou
ght chaos to the polished floor as if a storm of unimaginable power had struck in this place. From her secret place, she saw a large book lying open on the floor just three feet away. It looked as if it was some sort of art catalog with various masterpieces of mankind's once great culture. The open page was simply titled “The Renaissance”. She recognized the familiar painting, “School of Athens”, by Raphael. She remembered learning about this painting back when she was in middle school.

The image was filled with peo
ple draped in colorful garments speaking, debating, and pondering the mysteries of life. In the center of the painting stood Plato and Aristotle ― noble and strong ― surrounded by the wisest of earth’s men. They stood together, as teacher and student in clear disagreement, debating without a single word. Plato, with hand pointing to the heavens, illustrates his “forms” and the belief in absolute truth. Standing firm, Aristotle holds his hand steady and low, keeping his eyes on the planet before him. He believed in the natural world and the essence of things through experience. Rather than seeing the world as a reflection of a higher form of perfection, he strove to understand “what something truly is” and “why things really occur”.

Acro
ss town in a small trailer park stood a rusty shell of a home. Placed neatly by the front door, several pairs of worn, well used shoes sat in a row. Among these was a pair of immaculately maintained work boots – deeply oiled, quality footwear, with brand new braided laces. Despite the breathtaking aesthetics, their story was clear. Subtle wear from replacing laces, creased leather from sunrise to sunset responsibilities, showed these boots had been used for work. Even with the care and use these boots once enjoyed, they now lay idle covered with layers of dust – undisturbed like petrified wood.

“Ma, where’s Carolyn? She’s been gone too long,” the small, frail girl asked her mother.

Pacing back and forth in the small efficient kitchen, she smiled at her baby girl and replied, “She’ll be home in just a bit, don’t worry.” Walking to the small dingy window, the thin woman looked out with sad eyes.

“You know something’s happened, she should have been home two hours ago,” the olde
r girl said to her young sister. “It ain’t right, and there’s bad men out there.” With hard earned gray streaks, striping her full head of greasy hair, the once-beautiful woman returned to her stove. Stirring the black pot gave her comfort as tears pooled in the corner of her wrinkled eyes. She continued to cook, to keep her mind at bay, doing everything she could not to think about her Carolyn. A handful of beans, a few parsnips, potatoes, and a sliver of pork fat made up her simple stew.

“Emma, Laura, clean up for dinner. We don’t want it getting co
ld,” the distracted mother said ringing her hands.

“Aren’t we going to wait for Carolyn?” the young girl pleaded.

With a gesture and a shake of the head, the sad mother signaled the girls to sit. “Let’s say grace. Heavenly Father, thanks for the food you’ve provided and the warmth you continue to share. Help us remember those no longer with us and appreciate those who still are. Please protect this family and our town each and every day. Thank you for Calvary and your promise of salvation. God bless us all. Amen.” The strong but broken woman said with voice trembling, “Let’s eat.”

S
ounds of glass breaking bounced off the steel walls and iron support beams as the group of savages made their way through the front window. The sunset burned into the building casting a kaleidoscope of eerie shadows throughout the abandoned space. The terrified woman’s heart froze as the images of wisdom and culture were replaced by the instinct to survive. On hands and knees, the girl scrambled from her place of safety to the back of the store. Heavy boots thundered in the distance as the young men moved, overturning furniture, focused on their hunt. Reaching the back of the store where rainbows of produce once packed the now empty shelves, she slipped inside a small side door.

She found herself in the butcher’s workspace, where animals were quartered and prepped for sale. The smell was ov
erpowering, ravaging her senses since bits and pieces of meat had been left to rot in the summer heat. She climbed under the refrigerated case, once used for displaying the quality meat. The laughter and chaos drew closer as she sat alone in the dark.

“There you are!” snarled the savage boy as he slid the
heavy stainless steel door open. “Found her – she’s back here!” Grabbing the screaming girl by the hair, he pulled her from hiding and dragged her out and through the door. “She right here!” he screamed again as he laughed and kicked her petite body. The shadows doubled and then tripled as the boys met them in the darkness.

“Hey sweetie, let’s get you up front so we can take a look at you,” the oldest boy said in a sarcastic, taunting tone.

Screaming, thrashing, and grinding her yellowing teeth, the hopeless teen fought for her life. The young men pushed and forced her small body through the darkness, towards the entrance into the blood-red setting sunlight. The mob reached the checkout as chaos rained down among the empty newsstands and barren candy shelves. One of the portly unshaven boys spit pure evil from his toothless mouth while sliding his hand inside her shirt. Lurching back, the young woman smashed her skull into his greasy forehead. His nose exploded in a flash of color spewing a foul concoction of mucus and blood.

“You fuckin’ b
itch!” he screamed, “We’re gonna feed ‘ur fuckin ass!”

With unnatural speed and agility, he tossed her down by the neck and slammed his heavy boot into her ribs.

“Knock it off, she needs to be alive. We’ve got another thirty miles to go before we get home,” the oldest boy said with authority.

He leaned over and grabbed her forcefully by the
hair stripping the fine golden threads from her scalp. Her cries again turned violent, as she instinctively pictured her fate if she was to leave with the men. She bucked. She bucked hard, using every flicker of energy that remained in her hopeless spirit.

The sudde
n movement destabilized the men throwing one of the boys into the powerless cash registers. One of them hit the ground without sound as the commotion of the struggle immersed the big box retailer. As the steel and plastic quivered from the fall, several rolls of discarded, useless zinc pennies rolled out from within. Deciding to bring an end to the struggle, the savage leader removed his sock and filled it with the rolls of pennies. The last light of the day cast a long dreadful shadow like a sickle harvesting wheat as the sock swung with hatred. Not hatred for the girl, but instead, hatred for what they’d become.

The makeshift weapon sm
ashed with a pop dead center in the back young woman’s skull. Blackness fell as the sock split apart from both the impact of the blow and the age of the tattered cloth. The paper that bound the coins tore sending them high into the air. They sparkled in red and orange as beams of light set them ablaze. Time stood still as her consciousness disappeared, and her body floated, suspended in space. The polished copper hung around them like celestial bodies orbiting a great star. The beauty was stunning and overwhelming, bringing pangs of despair to even the most hardened observer. As quickly as it came, the instant passed – violence replaced the majesty of the moment.

A loud crack echoed the empty space as her head hit the floor. Metallic rain trickled all around them when the pennies finally hit the white glazed tile. Bouncing and spinning, they fell randomly around their feet. One penny emerged from the cluster, rolling in perfect balance. It se
ttled upright, standing on edge with Lincoln’s image perfectly aligned making clear its concealed message – In God We Trust.