Seventh Dimension - The King - Book 2, A Young Adult Fantasy Page 2

  “I stole it.”

  “What do you mean, you stole it?”

  “I was depressed, but that place is for lunatics. Perhaps a visit to the rabbi would have been sufficient, just someone to talk to.”

  “Daniel, I don’t know a rabbi well enough to send you to one. That part of my life is over.”

  Mother could forsake her religion but she couldn’t take the Jewishness out of her blood. Bitterness now filled that hole.

  Not embracing our heritage had cost us. If we weren’t God’s people, who were we?

  “You know they will be looking for you.”

  “If you want me to go insane, send me back.”

  My caring nature was a doubled-edge sword. Everyone knew I wanted to be a doctor, but after being so depressed following General Goren’s death, she questioned my ability to become one.

  I turned to Martha, as if asking her for support. She listened attentively.

  “Mother, just let them know Daniel came home,” Martha suggested.

  I moved the salad around on my plate. “I feel something is about to happen. And I want to be here when it does.”

  Mother shook her head. “Don’t say things like that, Daniel. Why do you scare me? One minute I want to believe you are okay, the next minute you worry me with your preoccupation with the future, about what might happen.”

  I lashed back. “Just because I feel things more than others doesn’t mean I’m crazy.” My words were ignored. I’d always had a better relationship with my father. My mother, Kitty—as much as I loved her—frustrated me with her inability to see other people’s viewpoints.

  She was silent as she dug into her food. Taking a few bites without speaking dissipated the tension. Finally she said, “Maybe it’s best. We have some business news we need to discuss.”

  “Like what?”

  “I’m sure you realize now how difficult it would be to get into medical school.”

  Was that a question or a statement? I glanced at Martha. “What do you mean?” Was this what she started to tell me?

  “Moshe can no longer make the trip to Syria. He believes it’s too dangerous and isn’t willing. He fears the aggression will spill over into Israel any moment—that the recent events are far more serious and likely to lead to war. We need someone to take his place and take over the family business.”

  Take over the family business? “I can’t do that—I’m not old enough, and I still have three years to serve in the IDF.”

  “I know,” she said reluctantly. “I’m thinking down the road. We can find someone on a short-term basis, if we pay him enough.”

  She wanted me to sacrifice my dreams for her security.

  “You want me to take over the family business instead of becoming a doctor?”

  Mother looked away to avoid eye contact. “How could you ever be a doctor? I mean, your reputation—”

  “What reputation?”

  “You’re too unstable, Daniel. And anyone who has a mental breakdown is not going to be admitted into any medical schools in Israel.”

  Anger rose within me. “That’s a pretty judgmental thing to say.”

  Mother stabbed her knife into the turkey. “You don’t know what suffering is. Not until you’ve—”

  I glared back. “Not until what?”

  Mother didn’t need to tell me. The flames of Auschwitz were in her eyes. Her grandparents were murdered and her mother was left an orphan.

  Her only picture of them she kept by her bedside. Probably her most cherished possession, though Martha and I were a close second. Not that she loved us less—but we were her children. She had never known her grandparents.

  Martha interrupted. “We don’t have to discuss this tonight. Daniel just got back. Let’s wait until tomorrow and talk about it. You can call the Treatment Center and let them know he’s home.”

  Mother nodded. She wiped her face as if to wipe away the heated conversation.

  What sorrow did she carry? Perhaps I was more like her than I admitted.

  “Would anyone like some tea?” Martha offered.

  “I would love some,” I said.

  CHAPTER 4 CONFLAGRATION

  The French doors were open and a gentle breeze lifted the aroma from my mint tea. A deep red painted the sky as the sun arced below Mount Zion. Memories stirred from happier times.

  Mother collected the dishes from the table and carried them to the sink. “Since you’re back, you should check the mail.”

  “Anything important?”

  “You got your letter from the IDF.”

  My rite of passage.

  ~~~

  Sleep eluded me. After an hour of tossing and turning, I remembered the book Lilly gave me. Why had I agreed to keep it? I slipped out of bed and tiptoed to the front door. When I opened it, cold air gushed into the hallway. I grabbed the book and returned to my room. Flipping through the pages, I stopped to read a couple of lines.

  “It was during those days that Yochanan the Immerser arrived in the desert of Y’hudah and began proclaiming the message, ‘Turn from your sins to God, for the Kingdom of God is near.’” If Lilly asked me if I’d read any of it, I could say yes and wouldn’t be lying.

  I slipped the book under my pillow. Mother and Martha would never find it unless they changed my bed sheets. They hadn’t done that in years. A tree branch rubbed against the apartment window as the wind kicked up. I stared at the ceiling. A sense of uneasiness haunted me. The clock said 2:00 A.M. Sleep finally came but not for long.

  I woke with a start when the bed moved and I heard several explosions. A flash of light pierced through the partially opened blinds. I pulled up the shades. The streets were dark except for emergency lighting, but beyond the city walls, the sky was bright. The sound of barking dogs bounced off the stone walls amid wailing sirens.

  I ran down the hallway. The floor moved again. Mother and Martha met me and we rushed into the dining room. When we pulled up the blinds, glowing streaks of fire covered Mount Zion. Fire balls shot up into the sky. Smoke made it hard to see and flames engulfed the mountain.

  Scorched trails up and down in shades of red and orange glowed. I stared in disbelief. The Temple Mount and the Dome of the Rock were not visible, but neither was anything else—hidden by the flames.

  “The ground moved,” Martha said.

  I shook my head. “We’ve never had earthquakes around here. Maybe terrorists attacked.”

  Below the mountain, emergency vehicles blocked traffic, making cars turn back. The traffic heading away had snarled to a crawl.

  Neither of us wanted to mention the unthinkable. I finally asked, “If the Dome of the Rock is gone, do you know what that means?”

  “The Israelis would never do anything to the Temple Mount,” Mother said. “That would be an act of war.”

  “I didn’t say we did anything, but something happened.”

  “The Arabs will blame us,” Martha said.

  I clicked the remote to the T.V. “No power.”

  “I already tried to turn on a light,” Mother said.

  I ran back to my room to get the computer. The battery would last for a couple of hours. I waited for the desktop to appear on the screen and clicked on Google. Nothing happened.

  “We have no Internet,” I said.

  Martha turned on her iPhone. “My God!”

  I learned over her shoulder. “What is it?”

  “An earthquake. It says the Dome of the Rock is burning.”

  Martha flitted through several tweets on her twitter feed. “Rockets have been seen—over Northern Israel. They are headed towards Tel Aviv and Jerusalem.”

  “Can they get through the iron dome?” I asked.

  Martha shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  Mother stood. “We’d better go to the safe room.”

  Before we could move, another explosion rattled the apartment. This one felt closer, within a few hundred meters.

  Mother’s face turned white even in the dar
kness.

  Martha reached for her. “What is it?”

  “I feel weak, like I’m going to faint.”

  “Sit down,” Martha said. “Here, let me help you.”

  I stared at the fiery mountain. “This is more than just an earthquake. How long would it take for a missile to reach us?”

  “From Syria?” Martha asked.

  “Don’t talk like that,” Mother said.

  Another explosion shook the floor. Screams from outside the building cut like a knife. At least one explosion was close enough to be inside the walls of the Old City.

  “No,” Mother screamed, “Not again.”

  “Hamas?” Martha asked.

  Mother’s eyes bulged. “We’re going to die.”

  The last blast was close. It was too late to leave our apartment for a safer place. Where would we go anyway?

  The sirens continued like a stuck needle on a record player.

  Martha’s voice trembled. “We need to go to the safe room.”

  “I see fire,” Mother sobbed. “The fires of Auschwitz.” She carried the scars like a badge of courage.

  “This is not Auschwitz. This is Jerusalem.” I leaned over and rubbed her tense shoulders. I wanted to pray for the first time since our father went missing, but I couldn’t. I wasn’t sure I believed in God anymore. The wounds were too deep.

  Martha’s phoned beeped. “We need to go to the safe room,” she said again.

  We had prepared the room a few months earlier when the political situation deteriorated. The essentials were in a plastic carton—three bottles of water for each of us, several energy bars, as well as the recommended emergency supplies: A small flashlight, matches, whistle, pencil, paper, pocket knife, rope, compass, sleeping bag, battery-operated radio, garbage bags, wet naps, and toiletries.

  I snatched the laptop computer as well as my Kindle, though I’d forgotten to charge it the night before.

  The only window in father’s office faced Mount Zion. We had argued about whether we should seal it. We didn’t. I could still picture him at his desk working late into the night. He lived in his own world of chaos—selling to the Arabs when other Jews wouldn’t.

  The last shipment he had sent ahead of his return, but the package didn’t arrive until days after his disappearance. The box sat in the corner, unopened—two years later. That we never found his body left me embittered.

  Stashed in the other corner were three gas masks and additional food and water.

  “Don’t forget the phone charger,” I told Martha.

  Mother sat on the cot and Martha and I shared the floor mat. We spread out our sleeping bags. The sirens continued. Intermittent barking dogs sent my mind wandering where it shouldn’t.

  “How long should we stay in here?” Martha asked.

  I shrugged.

  Martha propped herself up with a pillow. I could barely see her face in the moonlight through the window.

  “At least we don’t have to use the gas masks,” I said.

  Martha shifted on the floor. “Not yet. I’d hate to suffocate using one.”

  “You won’t suffocate if you put it on correctly.”

  “Some people did during the Gulf War,” Martha argued.

  “Have you ever used one?” I asked.

  “No,” she said glibly. “You know I wasn’t born until a year after that.”

  Mother changed the conversation. “What time is it?”

  Martha reached over and checked the iPhone but didn’t say anything.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “It’s worse than I thought.”

  “What is? What are you looking at?”

  Martha clicked a few more times on the keypad. “I have a text message from a number I don’t recognize. It’s using the Hebrew code word Homat Barzel.”

  She switched back to her twitter feed. This is from the Haaretz Newswire. 4:15 A.M. Tel Aviv hit with drones. Damage to the Diona nuclear reactor feared. The Azrieli Towers have collapsed and are on fire. Dozens presumed dead.”

  Mother lamented. “We should have moved to the countryside after your father disappeared.”

  Martha continued. “The Kikar Hamedina Square was struck and the IDF’s control command complex—hit also. Not sure how severe.”

  “What about here?” I asked. “What is all the fire that we saw, the smoke—I can smell it.”

  “I don’t know,” Martha said. “Here’s another report. The USS Abraham Lincoln was attacked on its way through the Strait of Hormuz.”

  Mother looked at me. “Daniel, try the radio again.”

  I did, but heard nothing but static.

  “Here, let me try the Israeli News,” Martha said.

  Rubbing my tired eyes, I scooted closer. I wished my iPhone hadn’t been stolen. I could find things quicker than my sister could.

  “Apparently the earthquake hit a gas line and blew out a section of the Armenian quarter—many casualties.”

  “We have lots of friends in that area,” Mother said.

  Lilly Ruston came to mind. Why didn’t I get her address?

  “We need to pray,” Martha said. She glanced around the room.

  I opened a breakfast bar and swallowed some water. An uncomfortable silence followed when no one offered.

  “We should take turns sleeping,” Mother said.

  Martha nodded.

  I dozed, vaguely aware of the faint whisperings of my mother and sister. I awoke around eight. The cold room gave me goose bumps. I pulled a sweater out of the box and slipped it on.

  “Have you heard anything?” I asked.

  Martha shook her head.

  Mother’s eyes looked swollen.

  “Both of you need to sleep,” I said. “I can stay awake now.”

  Mother reluctantly agreed. She pulled the covers up around her. Martha’s eyes were already closed.

  I heard grating sounds, like people moving things. Maybe emergency workers were attempting to dig people out of the rubble.

  Why did I lose my iPhone? I would have to pay for my next one. I flipped through Martha’s phone looking for emergency updates. News was either being withheld or the stations had no power to broadcast. I texted several friends whose phone numbers I could remember. I figured they were waiting it out also.

  I dug through our box of stored food. Since I never thought we’d eat the stuff, I made little effort to get things I liked. The pistachios and peanut butter would provide protein. I swallowed some water to get rid of the aftertaste.

  With all the sirens, an emergency update was due. I flipped on the computer, but still had no Internet. The best information came from tweets scattered around Jerusalem and Israel.

  I glanced at Martha and my mother. Could this be the start of World War III? I grabbed a gas mask. The other two masks shifted in the pile making too much noise. I froze and waited. Thankfully, neither of them was disturbed. I picked up my mother’s iPhone and texted Martha a message, “Be back shortly.”

  After closing the door quietly, I walked into the dining room. Mount Zion continued to burn. Several roads were unpassable and part of the mountain had collapsed.

  It must have been an earthquake. The tremor underneath the mountain probably caused a shift in the plates. Emergency vehicles and street traffic clogged the road below the mountain.

  I lifted the gas mask over my head and latched it. The unit was bulky and uncomfortable. I strode towards the front of the apartment and cracked the door. Smoke filled the narrow alleyway making it difficult to see. Footsteps approached and something brushed against my leg. I looked down to see a trembling brown and white dog. Her fearful eyes tugged at my heart. I patted her on the head and she wagged her tail expectantly. I checked for a collar but she didn’t have one. How would I ever find her owner?

  If chemicals were used, would she be alive? I didn’t think so, and I took solace that fewer lives would be lost. I headed to the epicenter of the Old City with the dog nipping at my heels. She was probably afrai
d of losing me. At Zion’s Gate, more chaos confronted me.

  Israeli soldiers blocked the entrance. “You can’t go in there,” one of them said.

  He had on a gas mask. I was glad I wore mine.

  “You need to go home. We fear more explosions, or go to a safe room.”

  St. James Monastery in the Armenian quarter lay in ruins. What about all the priceless books? Martha loved to hang out there and read.

  Prior attacks filled my mind. We always questioned if this was the big one. The Old City hadn’t been attacked since 1967. We would never surrender Jerusalem to the Arabs again.

  A sheet covered a darkened corner of the alleyway. I imagined dead bodies hidden underneath it. A soldier stood guard.

  “I’m looking for a friend,” I said.

  The guard didn’t move. “Some of the injured have been sent to Hurva Square. The synagogue has been converted into an emergency room. Many casualties have been reported. Right now, you need to go home, Son, and stay out of harm’s way. Take your dog with you.”

  “Yes, sir.” I didn’t realize the dog was still following me.

  The soldier wasn’t going to allow me to enter. Men with bewildered looks wandered by. Not everyone wore a mask. Women sobbed. I started to head back to our apartment and then stopped. I had to know if Lilly was okay.

  I turned towards Hurva Square. The new synagogue stood where the old one had been before its destruction in 1948. The Arabs burned it to the ground. The medics had treated General Goren in the makeshift hospital in the synagogue after he suffered a near mortal wound. Too many had died to keep Jerusalem from the Arabs. In the end, the Jews failed. That we would use it again as a hospital felt surreal.

  The dog stayed with me as I walked through the hazy streets. The cafes were closed and the usually crowded souvenir shops were deserted. The thick smoke showed no sign of dissipating.

  I arrived at the synagogue and told the dog to wait outside the door for me. I paused before entering—suppose she was hungry. I reached into my pocket and pulled out an energy bar. “Here’s something to eat.”

  She greedily gobbled it down.

  I grabbed a discarded plastic cup from a table and poured her some water from my water bottle. She lapped it up. The smoke had made her thirsty.