Seventh Dimension - The King - Book 2, A Young Adult Fantasy (3 page)

I slipped the book under my pillow. Mother and
Martha would never find it unless they changed my bed sheets. They
hadn’t done that in years. A tree branch rubbed against the
apartment window as the wind kicked up. I stared at the ceiling. A
sense of uneasiness haunted me. The clock said 2:00 A.M. Sleep
finally came but not for long.

I woke with a
start when the bed moved and I heard several explosions. A flash of
light pierced through the partially opened blinds. I pulled up the
shades. The streets were dark except for emergency lighting, but
beyond the city walls, the sky was bright. The sound of barking
dogs bounced off the stone walls amid wailing sirens.

I ran down the hallway. The floor moved again.
Mother and Martha met me and we rushed into the dining room. When
we pulled up the blinds, glowing streaks of fire covered Mount
Zion. Fire balls shot up into the sky. Smoke made it hard to see
and flames engulfed the mountain.

Scorched trails up and down in shades of red and
orange glowed. I stared in disbelief. The Temple Mount and the Dome
of the Rock were not visible, but neither was anything else—hidden
by the flames.

“The ground moved,” Martha said.

I shook my head. “We’ve never had earthquakes around
here. Maybe terrorists attacked.”

Below the mountain, emergency vehicles blocked
traffic, making cars turn back. The traffic heading away had
snarled to a crawl.

Neither of us wanted to mention the unthinkable. I
finally asked, “If the Dome of the Rock is gone, do you know what
that means?”

“The Israelis would never do anything to the Temple
Mount,” Mother said. “That would be an act of war.”

“I didn’t say we did anything, but something
happened.”

“The Arabs will
blame us,” Martha said.

I clicked the remote to the T.V. “No power.”

“I already
tried to turn on a light,” Mother said.

I ran back to
my room to get the computer. The battery would last for a couple of
hours. I waited for the desktop to appear on the screen and clicked
on Google. Nothing happened.

“We have no
Internet,” I said.

Martha turned on her iPhone. “My God!”

I learned over her shoulder. “What is it?”

“An earthquake. It says the Dome of the Rock is
burning.”

Martha flitted through several tweets on her twitter
feed. “Rockets have been seen—over Northern Israel. They are headed
towards Tel Aviv and Jerusalem.”

“Can they get through the iron dome?” I asked.

Martha shook her head. “I don’t know.”

Mother stood.
“We’d better go to the safe room.”

Before we could move, another explosion rattled the
apartment. This one felt closer, within a few hundred meters.

Mother’s face turned white even in the darkness.

Martha reached for her. “What is it?”

“I feel weak, like I’m going to faint.”

“Sit down,” Martha said. “Here, let me help
you.”

I stared at the fiery mountain. “This is more than
just an earthquake. How long would it take for a missile to reach
us?”

“From Syria?” Martha asked.

“Don’t talk like that,” Mother said.

Another explosion shook the floor. Screams from
outside the building cut like a knife. At least one explosion was
close enough to be inside the walls of the Old City.

“No,” Mother
screamed, “Not again.”

“Hamas?” Martha
asked.

Mother’s eyes bulged. “We’re going to die.”

The last blast was close. It was too late to leave
our apartment for a safer place. Where would we go anyway?

The sirens continued like a stuck needle on a record
player.

Martha’s voice
trembled. “We need to go to the safe room.”

“I see fire,”
Mother sobbed. “The fires of Auschwitz.” She carried the scars like
a badge of courage.

“This is not Auschwitz. This is Jerusalem.” I leaned
over and rubbed her tense shoulders. I wanted to pray for the first
time since our father went missing, but I couldn’t. I wasn’t sure I
believed in God anymore. The wounds were too deep.

Martha’s phoned beeped. “We need to go to the safe
room,” she said again.

We had prepared
the room a few months earlier when the political situation
deteriorated. The essentials were in a plastic carton—three bottles
of water for each of us, several energy bars, as well as the
recommended emergency supplies: A small flashlight, matches,
whistle, pencil, paper, pocket knife, rope, compass, sleeping bag,
battery-operated radio, garbage bags, wet naps, and
toiletries.

I snatched the
laptop computer as well as my Kindle, though I’d forgotten to
charge it the night before.

The only window
in father’s office faced Mount Zion. We had argued about whether we
should seal it. We didn’t. I could still picture him at his desk
working late into the night. He lived in his own world of
chaos—selling to the Arabs when other Jews wouldn’t.

The last shipment he had sent ahead of his return,
but the package didn’t arrive until days after his disappearance.
The box sat in the corner, unopened—two years later. That we never
found his body left me embittered.

Stashed in the other corner were three gas masks and
additional food and water.

“Don’t forget
the phone charger,” I told Martha.

Mother sat on
the cot and Martha and I shared the floor mat. We spread out our
sleeping bags. The sirens continued. Intermittent barking dogs sent
my mind wandering where it shouldn’t.

“How long should we stay in here?” Martha asked.

I shrugged.

Martha propped
herself up with a pillow. I could barely see her face in the
moonlight through the window.

“At least we
don’t have to use the gas masks,” I said.

Martha shifted on the floor. “Not yet. I’d hate to
suffocate using one.”

“You won’t
suffocate if you put it on correctly.”

“Some people did during the Gulf War,” Martha
argued.

“Have you ever used one?” I asked.

“No,” she said glibly. “You know I wasn’t born until
a year after that.”

Mother changed the conversation. “What time is
it?”

Martha reached over and checked the iPhone but
didn’t say anything.

“What is it?” I asked.

“It’s worse than I thought.”

“What is? What are you looking at?”

Martha clicked a few more times on the keypad. “I
have a text message from a number I don’t recognize. It’s using the
Hebrew code word Homat Barzel.”

She switched
back to her twitter feed. This is from the Haaretz Newswire. 4:15
A.M. Tel Aviv hit with drones. Damage to the Diona nuclear reactor
feared. The Azrieli Towers have collapsed and are on fire. Dozens
presumed dead.”

Mother lamented. “We should have moved to the
countryside after your father disappeared.”

Martha continued. “The Kikar Hamedina Square was
struck and the IDF’s control command complex—hit also. Not sure how
severe.”

“What about
here?” I asked. “What is all the fire that we saw, the smoke—I can
smell it.”

“I don’t know,”
Martha said. “Here’s another report. The
USS Abraham Lincoln
was attacked on its way through the Strait of
Hormuz.”

Mother looked at me. “Daniel, try the radio
again.”

I did, but heard nothing but static.

“Here, let me try the Israeli News,” Martha
said.

Rubbing my
tired eyes, I scooted closer. I wished my iPhone hadn’t been
stolen. I could find things quicker than my sister
could.

“Apparently the earthquake hit a gas line and blew
out a section of the Armenian quarter—many casualties.”

“We have lots
of friends in that area,” Mother said.

Lilly Ruston came to mind. Why didn’t I get her
address?

“We need to pray,” Martha said. She glanced around
the room.

I opened a
breakfast bar and swallowed some water. An uncomfortable silence
followed when no one offered.

“We should take
turns sleeping,” Mother said.

Martha nodded.

I dozed,
vaguely aware of the faint whisperings of my mother and sister. I
awoke around eight. The cold room gave me goose bumps. I pulled a
sweater out of the box and slipped it on.

“Have you heard anything?” I asked.

Martha shook her head.

Mother’s eyes looked swollen.

“Both of you need to sleep,” I said. “I can stay
awake now.”

Mother reluctantly agreed. She pulled the covers up
around her. Martha’s eyes were already closed.

I heard grating
sounds, like people moving things. Maybe emergency workers were
attempting to dig people out of the rubble.

Why did I lose
my iPhone? I would have to pay for my next one. I flipped through
Martha’s phone looking for emergency updates. News was either being
withheld or the stations had no power to broadcast. I texted
several friends whose phone numbers I could remember. I figured
they were waiting it out also.

I dug through our box of stored food. Since I never
thought we’d eat the stuff, I made little effort to get things I
liked. The pistachios and peanut butter would provide protein. I
swallowed some water to get rid of the aftertaste.

With all the
sirens, an emergency update was due. I flipped on the computer, but
still had no Internet. The best information came from tweets
scattered around Jerusalem and Israel.

I glanced at
Martha and my mother. Could this be the start of World War III? I
grabbed a gas mask. The other two masks shifted in the pile making
too much noise. I froze and waited. Thankfully, neither of them was
disturbed. I picked up my mother’s iPhone and texted Martha a
message, “Be back shortly.”

After closing
the door quietly, I walked into the dining room. Mount Zion
continued to burn. Several roads were unpassable and part of the
mountain had collapsed.

It must have
been an earthquake. The tremor underneath the mountain probably
caused a shift in the plates. Emergency vehicles and street traffic
clogged the road below the mountain.

I lifted the
gas mask over my head and latched it. The unit was bulky and
uncomfortable. I strode towards the front of the apartment and
cracked the door. Smoke filled the narrow alleyway making it
difficult to see. Footsteps approached and something brushed
against my leg. I looked down to see a trembling brown and white
dog. Her fearful eyes tugged at my heart. I patted her on the head
and she wagged her tail expectantly. I checked for a collar but she
didn’t have one. How would I ever find her owner?

If chemicals
were used, would she be alive? I didn’t think so, and I took solace
that fewer lives would be lost. I headed to the epicenter of the
Old City with the dog nipping at my heels. She was probably afraid
of losing me. At Zion’s Gate, more chaos confronted me.

Israeli soldiers blocked the entrance. “You can’t go
in there,” one of them said.

He had on a gas mask. I was glad I wore mine.

“You need to go
home. We fear more explosions, or go to a safe room.”

St. James Monastery in the Armenian quarter lay in
ruins. What about all the priceless books? Martha loved to hang out
there and read.

Prior attacks filled my mind. We always questioned
if this was the big one. The Old City hadn’t been attacked since
1967. We would never surrender Jerusalem to the Arabs again.

A sheet covered
a darkened corner of the alleyway. I imagined dead bodies hidden
underneath it. A soldier stood guard.

“I’m looking for a friend,” I said.

The guard
didn’t move. “Some of the injured have been sent to Hurva Square.
The synagogue has been converted into an emergency room. Many
casualties have been reported. Right now, you need to go home, Son,
and stay out of harm’s way. Take your dog with you.”

“Yes, sir.” I didn’t realize the dog was still
following me.

The soldier wasn’t going to allow me to enter. Men
with bewildered looks wandered by. Not everyone wore a mask. Women
sobbed. I started to head back to our apartment and then stopped. I
had to know if Lilly was okay.

I turned
towards Hurva Square. The new synagogue stood where the old one had
been before its destruction in 1948. The Arabs burned it to the
ground. The medics had treated General Goren in the makeshift
hospital in the synagogue after he suffered a near mortal wound.
Too many had died to keep Jerusalem from the Arabs. In the end, the
Jews failed. That we would use it again as a hospital felt
surreal.

The dog stayed
with me as I walked through the hazy streets. The cafes were closed
and the usually crowded souvenir shops were deserted. The thick
smoke showed no sign of dissipating.

I arrived at
the synagogue and told the dog to wait outside the door for me. I
paused before entering—suppose she was hungry. I reached into my
pocket and pulled out an energy bar. “Here’s something to
eat.”

She greedily
gobbled it down.

I grabbed a
discarded plastic cup from a table and poured her some water from
my water bottle. She lapped it up. The smoke had made her
thirsty.

Patting her on
the head, I said reassuringly, “I’ll be back in a few minutes.” She
whimpered and crouched on the steps.

She was too obedient not to belong to somebody.

When I entered
the synagogue, the worship center buzzed with activity. Cots lined
the walls with injured and hurting people. Cries drifted from
several beds. Medics and nurses were everywhere. A quiet calm
existed but the intensity of the suffering was enormous. I took off
my gas mask and set it in a corner.