Laurels Literary Magazine Spring 2014 | Page 54

these were the choicest parts for them to eat, and now at last my morbid curiosity was satisfied. I patted my pocket where the revolver lay and turned towards camp. When I returned, I saw that he was awake and already into his morning prayers. When he was done I addressed him and told him of my plan. “You’ll stay here and keep the fires burning, okay? Also make sure that the ‘crows don’t fall. I made sure that they were real life-like. As long and they think you’re not alone, then you’re safe.” My eyes swept over his cherub face as if I was trying to memorize it. Suddenly he embraced me, burying his face in my chest and squeezing me with surprising strength. “God be with you, Michael,” he said. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, but placed a hand on his head instead. “I’ll be back in two days. Don’t forget the fires.” I reached the town around midday, giving me enough time to search before gathering what wood there was for fire before dusk. I scrounged for hours, revolver in hand, but only managed to procure a few provisions. It was enough, however, tide us over until we moved camp. That night, from the top of a crumbling cathedral, I could see a ring of fires burning in the distance. Early in the morning of the second day, I woke to find only a crescent fire remaining, wisps of black smoke curling to the red sky. I ran. I dashed blindly and wildly. Sometimes stumbling and rolling down the hill. Words, an unbidden prayer, burst from my mouth and resounded in my heart, ‘Oh dear God, please spare him!’ Soon, but never soon enough, I reached the camp. Horror and fear gripped me as it never had before. ‘Where is he?’ A low keening alerted me of his presence. Practically camouflaged by the stained rags, he lay in a heap, bloody and beaten. Lips that once uttered prayers and praises were now torn, shredded and twisted in anguish. Somber orbs that once rolled heavenward now undoubtedly rolled somewhere on the ground or churned in the stomach of some beast. Forgetting that they may still be watching, that they may be near, I fell to my knees beside him and took his hand in my own. He flinched and cried out at the contact. “Shh, it’s just me,” I said, stroking his brow, “It’s ok, I’m here.” He whimpered and clutched at my arm. “They came, they took my eyes, oh my eyes, it hurts, please, make it stop, oh God, it hurts.” Blood tricked down from his empty sockets. Reassurances spilled forth, “It’s ok, they’re -“ A crunch of splintering wood sounded behind me. My sweet brother cried out and clung to me tighter. “No, it’s ok,” I murmured, “I’m going to take care of you.” I could hear foot steps coming closer and faster. It was only a matter of seconds until they broke out into a run. I reached for the revolver in my pocket and placed it at his temple. The footsteps came at a trot. He stilled at the touch of the cool metal before relaxing completely. The pounding of sprinting feet was deafening. I covered his body with my own and placed my mouth at his other ear, “We’re going home now, Gabriel.” I fired. 54