The Fourth Trumpet by Theresa Jenner Garrido

girls prepared four mugs of nourishing soup, leaving some in the pan in case the priest awakened. They carried them into the living room and set them, as well as a box of crackers, on the coffee table. Keith and Eleazar each took a mug without a word. The old man smiled and sat back in the recliner opposite Carrie.
    “Ah, this is nice. Thank you.” He took a sip, licked his lips in satisfaction, and looked over at Keith, who perched on the arm of Carrie’s chair. “Now then. Tell us your story, Keith. I read the entire Book of Psalms while you were absent.” He chuckled and helped himself to a handful of crackers.
    Keith slid to the floor. “Jeez, where to begin?”
    “I suggest the beginning,” the old pastor grinned. “We have all night.”

THIRTEEN
     
    Keith cleared his throat, took a long swallow of his soup then set his cup on the table beside him. “Gosh, it all happened so fast. In a dream-like slow motion—if that makes any sense.” He laughed self-consciously. “I went down to the creek, as you know, and was filling the bucket when I heard a cry for help.”
    “You heard a cry? From the priest?” Andrea interrupted. “How’d you know it wasn’t made by one of those things out there?”
    “It definitely was a human voice. For a minute, I didn’t know what to do. I had a flashlight, but no weapon—not that anything would do any good against those creatures, whatever they are. I was scared up to the roots of my hair, but the cries kept coming from deep in the woods, and, well, I threw caution to the wind and headed in the direction of the voice. And carelessly tripped over a root. The stupid flashlight sailed out of my hand, landed on a rock or something and, blink, it was out.”
    “Murphy’s Law. I wish you’d come to tell us before you searched.”
    “Yeah, well, I debated doing that, but it was very clear that this person was in dire straits, like something was after him. I didn’t think I should waste any time. If those things did have him, he needed my help right then and in one heck of a hurry. So, I went.
    “Man, it was hard making my way through all the underbrush in that foul darkness. Every few feet I’d hear a twig snap or some weird noise and think one of the monsters was going to jump out at me. Talk about Jurassic Park! Jeez! It was awful. Anyway, I finally saw a light—really faint, but a light—bobbing ahead of me. It was Father Joe. He was leaning against a tree with a Coleman lantern in one hand, a handkerchief in the other, covered in blood and grime and God knows what else.”
    “Were there any monsters around?”
    “Not that I could see, but something’d gotten to him because he looked like he’d been beaten up by an entire gang of thugs. Or monsters. Insane.” He grimaced. “Then, as fate would have it or your Murphy’s Law, the lantern flickered, winked and died. Like having the lid on your coffin slammed shut.”
    Andrea winced.
    Just then, the man on the couch groaned, and all eyes turned to the injured priest. Keith sprang up and went to his friend. Father Joe opened two blackened, partially swollen eyes, blinked a few times in confusion, and then focused on the young man bending over him. “R-Reynolds?”
    “Yeah, Father Joe. It’s Keith Reynolds. I’m surprised you remember me.”
    The priest, who appeared to be in his early forties, grinned wryly. “Yeah, it’s been a few years, hasn’t it?”
    “Yes, it has. How d’you feel? Are you up to having a little pea soup? It’s pretty awful, but at least it’s hot.”
    Father Joe grimaced and tried to shift his position. Keith reached to help him sit up. He propped some pillows behind the injured man and covered his legs with the blanket.
    “Soup sounds good,” the man sighed. He looked at his bandaged hands and a crease appeared between his eyebrows. “Wh-what?” He looked up at the solemn faces around him, eyes widening as comprehension dawned. “Oh, my God,” he whispered. “I-I remember