The next few months were a blur of desperate pain and hunger. Despite that, Jonah only seemed to grow, turning into an intractable bulwark of safety, defending against the winds of despair. And in the pocket of hope formed by his presence, his people began to recover. They sang new songs and old ones alike. Wove flowers through their hair. Life was still a dark and bloody hell, but now at least, they could see the light.

And as they peered deeper into the distant light, exulting in its faint presence, Jonah peered the other way. Into the dark and shadowed alcoves of their war-torn world. He saw the shadows stirring and he engaged them, striking them down with carefully laid plans and acute intelligence. His name began to spread, and after careful consideration he let it. His people were so much more than just the small group he led. This growing myth could shield them, and failing that, grant them one last moment of hope before the reaper came for them.

Jonah, King of the Zors, they called him, whispering of legendary figures walking the earth once more.

But that was secondary to the obstacle before them,

“Mary” Jonah commanded, voice ringing with authority previously not present, “How many are there?”

“They have us surrounded on all sides. Nearly 4 companies”

Despite the danger, she remained completely calm, her faith in Jonah’s abilities absolute. Jonah silently smiled upon hearing that. After all his failures, at least he had succeeded in one thing. When the end came, his people would face it with hope. There is a power in such acceptance, an opening of doors previously closed. When one becomes aware of their impending demise, they hold nothing back, burning body and soul for a few fleeting moments of pure power before the end. I have seen cities die and battles won in this power.

Jonah, soul alight, looked at their surroundings. They were in a small abandoned village, achingly similar to the one they had once lived in. Narrow dirt roads winded between charred and sagging wooden houses, abandoned in the fury of the war and the panic to escape it.

“Gather everybody, please” he told Mary.

She nodded and left the semi-stable building they were standing in.

They had been sheltering in its charred depths for almost a week before they had been found, surrounded by 4 companies of Fraldian soldiers. For months they had been slowly making their way south, hoping to find asylum in one of the countries opposing Frald. At least that's what the people thought. Jonah knew better. They would never make it.

I wonder if this will be the end Jonah idly wondered.

He knew such musings belonged to broken men, but he had long accepted that he was broken. Perhaps that’s what made him such a great leader.

Only broken men could understand a broken world.

Then as was his custom, he looked up, gaze seeming to pierce the heavens to land on me.

“Enjoying the show?” he whispered.

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

I flinched at the hint of madness in his words.

I was saved by the arrival of Mary and the rest of the people, whose number had grown to nearly 4 dozen.

“Alright,” he clapped, “Here’s the plan…”

They didn't die that day.

—------------

More months passed and more months were survived.

—--------------

Jonah and another man lay belly down in the scraggly bushes on the peak of a hill. Below them stretched a mighty wall of concrete and barbed wire. The border of Frald and Parrick. The final challenge. If they managed to pass the borders and get into Parrick it's likely Parrick scouts would find them and take them away from the hell they had been living in. Only if they cross the border.

Back at the camp Jonah address the 6 dozen people with him,

“There are far fewer guards than usual, with most of the Fraldian army being used to reinforce the northern front. Now's the best chance we have. Prepare yourselves. We leave at midnight.”

As the people huddled together to preserve warmth, Jonah gazed at the stars, clearly visible in the lack of moonlight. The stars, or rather the darkness between them whispered secrets to him.

Strange shapes moved in the shadows. Jonah felt the scythe hovering over his neck, felt it every shred of his being. None of them would outlive the week. There was no path forward. They had run and run and now there was nowhere to run. Yet… if all paths led to the same place, then all that mattered was how the path was walked. Jonah would let his people's last free day be one of hope and celebration.

He felt a sense of revulsion rise in him, one that was as familiar to him as the shadow of death. Revulsion for lying to his people, for proclaiming hope when there was none. But looking back on his people excitedly whispering of their impending freedom, his face softened. It's about sacrifice. His integrity was a cheap price to pay for their joy.

He slept soundly, dreaming of his impending release.

At midnight they set out. At first, the plan went flawlessly. In the gap between patrols, they slipped to the wall. With knives and rope, they cleared the barbed wire and began to scale the 10-foot wall. They felt lighter and lighter as more crossed the wall, seeming to shed the burden of desperate survival. Jonah only felt himself grow heavier and heavier, seeming to take on their shed weight as he felt the shadows close in. Miraculously they all cleared the walls. Jonah hushed the celebration and led them along a game trail. In the distance, dogs barked. Jonah froze feeling the scythe finally begin its descent.

“They're here!” he shout-whispered, “Quickly move! And be quiet!”

The column of people sped up, joy turning to fear.

The sounds of barking dogs, and now shouting men grew closer.

Jonah made a snap decision,

“I’ll distract them! Go!”

“No!” Mary whisper-shouted back, but he was already gone.

He ran towards the dogs, shouting as he did.

The next few minutes were a desperate chase. Jonah was a blur, leveraging everything he had ever learned. Years as a boy playing games in the woods and experience running from would-be killers both. Dense trees streaked by, illuminated only by the faint light of the stars. He pulled out every trick he knew to prolong the chase, walking the knife's edge of getting caught and maintaining their attention. But no man is infallible and in the end he slipped. A tree branch he stepped on broke with a tremendous crash. He rolled with the fall and gracefully sprung back to his feet but that second was all the dogs needed. They fell on him with the savagery of a wild beast, ripping and tearing. The dog handles soon arrived and pried their dogs off of his bloody body.

“Got one!” the man hollered into the night.

Jonah didn't need to hear the answering cries to know that the rest of his people had been caught. His consciousness was slipping out of him with his blood.

Darkness embraced him.