Darkness Falls: The Sentinel Saga, #6

By Daryl J. Koerth

The forces of human evil are not done. The hard-won peace descends quickly into darkness. Things are really, really bad.
A new civil war has begun, and threatens to tear the nation to shreds.
Can the Sentinel rise above his own internal mayhem and stop the fighting before it goes too far?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rockin' K Publishers LLC
• Release date: Mar 6, 2024
• ISBN: 9781959282242

Book preview

" God saw how corrupt the earth had become, for all the people on earth had corrupted their ways."

– The Bible, New International Version, Genesis 6:12

Prologue

Washington, D.C.

October 13, 2024

War is always a dirty, messy, confusing, disgusting, painful, and terrifying endeavor.

Meghan Gregory fled from the Hall of Representatives in terror and high heels, breathing heavily, her heart pounding, the right side of her head splattered with a colleague’s blood. The man had been shot right beside her. She had to escape somehow. She couldn’t believe this was happening.

The heel of her right shoe snapped. Her ankle rolled partially and she fell, slapping hard against the marble floor. She kicked off both shoes in panic and regained her footing, standing up and running for the nearest exit. She had to make it to her car.

She almost stopped running in shock. She had left her keys, along with everything else, in the Hall. She couldn’t go back there. She would just have to find another way home, even if that meant running barefoot in the cold.

She plowed through the exit door, pushing it open and running for the stairs down to the parking lot. Night had well and truly fallen. It was chilly outside, and her skin immediately prickled with goosebumps. Her jacket was in the Hall. She reached the bottom of the ridiculous staircase and ran out to the street in hope of getting a ride back to her apartment and her family. They needed to get out of town tonight.

Her cell phone was, of course, in the Hall.

The first car she waved down almost stopped, but then saw who she was and sped away, as did the next several. She started running. What else could she do?

Finally an SUV paced her and a lady shouted, Excuse me, miss! Do you need help?

Meghan stopped running but couldn’t stop the rush of tears. Yes, please! she gasped. I need to get to my family!

Get in! said the female driver, and Meghan could hear the chunk! sound as the door locks disengaged. She opened the passenger door and got in, thanking God. She gave the driver her address and asked her to drive normally, no speeding or anything else that would attract attention. The car pulled away from the curb. The driver suddenly gasped and said, You’re Congresswoman Meghan Gr—

Please just call me Meghan, Meghan said, still shaking and out of breath. I’m not sure there is a Congress anymore.

Okay, said the driver. She added after a brief pause, I heard the whole thing on the radio. You have nothing to worry about with me. I’ve always been a fan of yours...I’m a super fan now. My name’s Lisa.

Thank you so much, Lisa, Meghan said, for everything. She finally caught her breath and said, I recommend that you get out of town as soon as possible with all of your family.

No family or pets, Lisa said. It’s just little orphan me.

I’m sorry, Meghan said, and meant it.

No worries, Lisa said. "I’ve been an orphan my whole life. A nice Republican lady saved me from a horrible orphanage when I was very young by adopting me. She put me through school and even community college before she died of cancer. She was the only mom I ever knew. That was a few years ago. I’m only 24, but I’m resourceful. I have – had – my own business as a wilderness guide and survival expert. I know all sorts of tricks and…. She seemed to realize that she was rambling and stopped with a lame, Sorry. I yap when I’m nervous."

No problem at all, Meghan said. She thought only for a moment before she asked, Lisa...would you like to join us on the drive out of here?

Lisa looked like Christmas had come early. Her face lit up and she asked, Really? Are you serious?

Absolutely, Meghan answered, smiling for the first time that evening.

Yes! Lisa squealed in excitement. "I would love to."

Great, Meghan said. Get us safely to my apartment, and I’ll introduce you to everyone. You’re with us now.

Yes, ma’am, Lisa said with the biggest smile imaginable.

God is good, Meghan thought. She took her first calm breath in what seemed like forever.

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In a digital age, in a relatively prosperous nation like the United States, where just about everyone has access to an electronic device, the internet, or television, or radio, or just a few other people...news travels fast. The shocking events that played out inside the nation’s capitol building were the only images, words, and sounds plastered on every form of media for days. Those events would be tattooed on the minds of every living person in the United States for the rest of their lives.

Sadly, some cheered at the violent dissolution and conversion of the American government.

For some, it was an opportunity: an excuse to do horrible things.

For some, it was a harbinger of doom: a sort of proof that their paranoid ideas and nightmares were coming true and an excuse to hide.

For some, it was a call to action: a chance to give back to the nation that they called home and all those men and women who had given their lives in service to the causes of goodness, freedom, generosity, love, and so much more by committing to serve and save it.

The only thing that held back the tide of their combined efforts was a wall of fear.

Just a little wall of dark imagination.

Civil war had come to the United States again, and everyone knew it. Neighbors that didn’t already know each other well were suspicious of each other. There were so many hard lines that even many families were divided. Open hostilities hadn’t broken out yet, aside from rampant crime and defense.

The defenders were punished. The criminals weren’t. Overnight, the United States – the shining beacon of freedom in the world – had become a brutal dictatorship. A place of horror and atrocity.

How could this happen?

Sam, Angeline, Marvin, and I heard about it from Stephen.

Go time.

Chapter 1

Fredericksburg, TX

April 17, 2025

I walked along a game trail through the dense brush on a hillside just outside Fredericksburg, Texas. I was holding onto Thunder’s reins, and we tried to stay as quiet as we could when we crested the hill’s peak. People in the Texas Hill Country lived on hilltops or camped there.

This one was thankfully empty, and offered a panoramic view of the small city. It was just before dawn, and very dark, but a few lights below showed that the city was just a couple miles away. Gentle drizzle had soaked us, surprisingly cold, reminding me how heavy long hair could become when when wet and why I was wearing my current outfit.

My clothing was influenced by multiple life experiences, as it always had been. It was also practical, and had nothing to do with fashion trends. It had been made for me by the Council of Moms, Angeline, and even the Council of Dads. Brain-tanned buckskin trousers bloused into tan brown military-style jump boots. A Scottish Jacobite style shirt, loose and linen. A bullet-proof vest with class three strike plates.

A traditional recurve bow and quiver full of wood spined, feather-fletched arrows.

Two short swords, one on each hip.

Two extendable, bulletproof batons, held in a custom leather holster at the small of my back.

A 1911-style pistol chambered in the traditional .45 ACP in a drop holster on my right thigh.

Unfortunately, despite my best efforts to prevent it, the Second Civil War had begun. I was here to recruit people. I had to give a speech, and it had to be good. If I wanted to enter town as the sun broke the horizon, I needed to leave now.

I mounted Thunder and laid the reins on the saddle horn. I tucked the necklace with a cross made of nails, my old dog tags, and my Army grad ring on it inside my shirt and said lowly, Time to go, buddy. I’ll let you find the best way down and into town. It’s time to do our job.

Thunder just started to walk, and I bowed my head.

Please let this go well, Father.

Thunder picked his way down the other side of the big hill and put us on the side of Texas Highway 16. We rode into town past Lady Bird Johnson Municipal Park and several disturbingly empty streets. Fredericksburg had been founded a long, long time ago by German immigrants, not unlike many small towns and cities in central Texas. It was home to several cool landmarks like a museum for famous World War II Admiral Nimitz. It wasn’t a separate building. It wasn’t gaudy, glitzy, or glamorous. Just some really cool World War II memorabilia and knowledgable guides in Admiral Nimitz’s childhood home. I remembered visiting as a boy.

We were headed for one of those landmarks: the Fredericksburg Marktplatz, or Marketplace, where locals commonly gathered to sell all kinds of things like homemade arts and crafts, jams and jellies, wines, and even some of the coolest handmade candles in the world. I don’t know why there were always people in the Marktplatz. There just were. I expected to find at least a small group.

There were about fifty.

Thunder and I reached the Marktplatz just as the sun broke the horizon behind us. I didn’t hurry and I didn’t dismount. I just sat there for a few moments, waiting for someone to speak.

Are you lookin’ for someone, mister? a teenaged girl asked. A man near her, probably her father, gestured to her to be quiet, looking at what must have appeared to him like a crazy man on a quarter horse strapped with a mix of weapons that just weren’t practical for the average person in modern times. A pistol, sure...but a bow? Swords? I could understand his apprehension, especially given recent events and the looming threat of the inevitable ravages of a civil war.

I am, I said. I’m looking for conservatives who are willing to fight and restore this nation to its former freedom and prosperity. First, though, I’m looking for the one spy in this group.

He wasn’t hard to spot. I had seen him as I rode up to the Marktplatz. He was just dressed differently, built differently, held himself differently. He was fidgeting with his hands and wouldn’t meet my eyes. He had an arrogant grin on his face and a .22 revolver on his right hip.

Every person there was armed in some way, and they all exchanged quick, confused glances before looking back to me. None of you have anything to fear from me, I said. Things are going to move very quickly when I identify the spy. Please do not draw your firearms. I’m just here to talk. They all nodded and relaxed their stances just a touch. Good. Might as well get on with it and spring the trap. I’m going to slowly remove all of my weapons and hand them to someone. I looked at the teenage girl’s father. Sir? Would you mind holding them for me?

He only hesitated for a moment, looking at me, then at Thunder. Sure, he said, and stepped over to my left side. I slowly undid the tie on my right thigh that held the bottom of the drop holster against my leg, then the buckle of my sword belt, which also held the baton and pistol holsters. I handed the whole thing carefully to the man, along with my bow and quiver. Would you like me to hold your horse’s reins? he asked.

No, thank you, I replied. He’s very well trained, and will stand right where he is. Will you please walk around me once and make sure for everyone that I am completely disarmed, so there is no confusion?

He did so, looking me over carefully while I held my arms up, then took a step back while telling the small crowd, All clear. He’s disarmed. Everyone seemed to relax a lot more.

I looked directly at the shifty spy and said, My name is Jimmy, and I am the Sentinel.

He whipped his head up to look at me in surprise, locking his eyes on mine, then reached for his sidearm. I grinned and let him draw it, then vanished. I appeared right behind him and said, That’s a cute gun. Before he could react I snatched the firearm from his grasp by grabbing his wrist, wrenching his arm skyward, and twisting his wrist until it popped and crunched.

The small caliber pistol fired into the cold blue sky before he released it. Those who have rarely fired a pistol always grip it extra tight when they make the difficult decision to use it against a real target, almost as if the tighter grasp on a real object can ground them and confirm their commitment. It’s a fear response. I knocked the young man unconscious and handed the pistol to a woman who was standing nearby, then restrained him with the laces from his shoes.

There’s always one, I muttered as I stood up. Several people gave me quizzical looks. They had barely had time to gasp when I pulled the vanishing move, and they were undoubtedly wondering how I had known there would be a spy among them. I walked through the crowd to Thunder, who was still standing casually where I’d left him, acting as though absolutely nothing had happened. He looked mildly bored, and that made me smile and shake my head. I patted his neck before turning around to face the small crowd.

Again, I said, my name is Jimmy, and I’m the Sentinel.

A young boy who couldn’t have been more than five or six raised his hand, and I smiled again. He was wearing jeans, boots, a button-up long sleeve shirt, and a cowboy hat. Many of the adults there were wearing similar outfits. I squatted down so I was close to the little one’s eye level and pointed to him. What’s your question, little man? I asked.

He asked very directly, What’s a Sentinel? It took him a moment to say my title, so I let him do his thing before answering.

That’s a good question! I said, my smile getting even bigger. Kids are awesome. "A sentinel is just a kind of soldier, but I’m the Sentinel: the guardian of the truth about human history and spirituality, appointed by God."

His little eyes looked over my shoulder before he asked, You were sent by God?

Yes, I answered.

Where’s your wings? he asked. Are you a angel?

I don’t have wings, I said, and I’m not an angel. I’m just a human, like you. Angels don’t have wings either, by the way. People just think they do because of old Greek stories. Would you like to meet a real angel?

The little boy shook his head, suddenly afraid, and said, I don’t wanna die!

You don’t have to, buddy, I said. My fighting instructor is an angel named Angeline. What’s your name?

He said softly, Norman. My friends call me Norm.

Can I call you Norm? I asked politely.

He took a few moments to look me over before saying, Only if you shake my hand.

I glanced up at the man he was standing next to, presumably his father, my face asking for permission. He was smiling, too, and nodded. I stuck out my hand, and little Norm grasped and shook it.

Hi, Norman, I said. My name’s Jimmy.

Call me Norm, the little man said proudly. Several people nearby chuckled.

I will, I said. Why don’t you call our angel friend Angeline? Just close your eyes and say her name.

He stood up straight, closed his eyes really tight, and in a very serious and theatric voice said, Angeline.

The five-foot-something, petite brunette woman suddenly appeared right next to me, and the crowd gasped again. Hello, Norman, she said, smiling down at the boy. He opened his eyes and looked up at her with huge eyes. She knelt down and presented her hand to him. My name’s Angeline.

The boy shook her hand and squeaked out, Norm. The crowd chuckled. The boy looked around, embarrassed.

Angeline smiled and hooked a thumb at me, "He thinks he’s funny, but did you see how many people I made laugh just now?"

Norm smiled and nodded.

Any more questions, Norm? I asked him.

He looked around before shaking his head and saying, No, sir. Other people have some, though.

Kids really are awesome.

Okay, I said, and Angeline and I stood up. As I said when I first got here, I’m looking for people who are willing to fight to get the country back. Too soon, real hostilities will break out, and the war will come to town. It will be ugly, and vicious, and painful. People like the spy back there think they’re playing a video game while others die. I have come to lead very consequential conflicts, but I won’t be available all the time. I’m looking for folks who are willing to fight for their home towns. I can help you organize. Who wants to help?

Every single person there raised their hand.

Even Norm.

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Angeline and I spent the next half hour introducing ourselves and shaking hands. The people gathered in the Marktplatz were all friendly Texans who lived in or around Fredericksburg. Apparently, travel between towns and cities was risky because military barricades had popped up on the