The Fifth Journal: Book One of the Sons of Sanhedrin Series

My right hand reached up and felt the absence of flesh from the right side of my face; the vision in my right eye had worsened, and meanwhile a sizable amount of blood began to pool in the surrounding dirt. Was I really dying? I could see them now, advancing on us, moving swiftly through the field, approaching the outcroppings we had taken refuge in and raising their guns to fire upon us once more. Not like this, I thought, I will not go out like this, laying here like a beaten dog! I rose to a knee for a second time, shouldered my rifle, and pulled ever so delicately on the trigger as I aimed down range towards them. The kickback on my uninjured shoulder felt good, like coming home from a long extended vacation or enjoying the company of a good friend. I smiled as each projectile careened away from me, searching the world for someone to hurt. I looked over at Phoebe who was coming around and conveyed to me through one look that she would rather be anywhere else than here right now. The familiar explosions could be heard again, and I knew this time they would not be so forgiving. I smiled at her thinking that this day had started out too pleasantly to end like this. What a shame it would be to not see the sunrise with her tomorrow morning like we had been doing together lately. I crawled over to where she was and laid down next to her, holding her outstretched hand as she cradled my head upon her chest. While listening to the sound of her heartbeat I thought, "Oh well, at least we will have this one last sunset . . . " Then, the ground began to shake . . .