THE PISTOL
"I was there that day when he realized he was never going to be a holy man, when he finally understood that he was a true warrior. The savage Neanderthal army that had emerged from beneath the earth had attacked us that day. The few of us who had managed to survive had hidden ourselves at the top of the hill. Those who didn't died to a man. He hid with us that day, but something happened to him. He changed. His fear turned into anger." This from the lips of the ancient crone sitting quietly by the placid creek.
Her listeners, a young boy and girl, asked her then, "Tell us what happened to change him. It's important. After all, he did save all of us before he was done."
"All right, I'll tell you the story as he told it to me. I'll tell it in his own words. They have been engraved upon my memory ever since that fateful day, long ago, when he saved my life."
At first, I was scared. The wild creatures attacking us were heavily armed and fierce. They came in wave after wave up the hill towards where the few of us who had survived had retreated. I hid with the rest. I was so scared.
But after they left, hours later, I begin to feel anger. As I crawled from under the bushes in front of the cave, I grew more and more angry. Why should I run from them? This was my home.
I saw that they had moved on, off on one of their indeterminable forays. I remembered having seen a pistol in the barn below, at the foot of the hill. I wanted it. My anger wanted it.
I walked cautiously down the hill, keeping to the shadows and always looking about. None of the other survivors had elected to accompany me. Wise perhaps. Sometimes the Neanderthals would leave behind some of their members to kill any survivors.
The barn itself was an immense structure. It wasn't one of those traditional wooden barns, but rather one made of steel. The door itself was reinforced and locked and would have been impenetrable to those savages. They are incredibly strong and quick, cunning perhaps, but not very intelligent.
Suddenly,I heard them returning. I was glad I knew the way in. I hurried inside and barred the door. I didn't think they saw me. But even if they had, they wouldn't be able to get in here after me.
Inside, it was dark, quiet too, almost peaceful after the battle up the hill. I welcomed this calm after the chaos of the recent hours. I remembered where the pistol was, sitting on a bench at the other end of the barn. I crossed the large, mostly empty floor to where it lay. It was still there, a 357 Magnum - and there were several boxes of ammo too!
I also saw some machetes in a box beneath the bench. I had one once. I remember liking it then. I picked one out of the pile. It felt good in my hand. I tied it to my belt with some twine that was in the same box. Then I loaded the pistol and stuffed my pockets with the rest of the bullets.
I caught my reflection in the steel panel behind the bench. I looked fierce, like the warrior I had sometimes imagined myself to be. I was ready now to take on those savages waiting at the door.
I walked back across the floor. Then I carefully opened the door and blew away the three Neanderthals standing there, still trying to get in after me. I reloaded and continued on.
"But how did he save our world with only one pistol and a machete? How could one man stand against those immense savage hordes?"
"He was a true warrior, a throwback perhaps to mankind's wilder days. All I know is that by the time he had reached us again, at the top of the hill, he had killed all of the Neanderthals who had been left to guard the hill. He saved my life then. One of those horrid creatures had found me where I was hiding and was about to cut my throat. Afterwards, he encouraged us to take up the enemy's weapons and take the fight to them. He told us we had been running long enough. It was our day now. His anger inspired us, and, one by one, we throw off our fears and followed him."
By Eugene Marks