With a blistering glare, Bradley said, “Your call. Your conscience.”
* Moral Dilemma 4D *
Path D: YES, try to save the girl.
Path O: NO, don’t risk the mission and thousands of lives.
I don’t want to decide.
At the end of “Day 20,” a link will allow you to return to this Moral Dilemma and change your mind—if you must.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
( ( ( PATH 172D ) ) )
172D
THROUGH THE DAGGERLIKE streaks of light and shadow, the savage had been difficult to detect. His position was slightly elevated, but he wasn’t moving. Abby increased the tension on the two-stage trigger, and a bullet tunneled through the bastard’s forehead, just above his spotting scope. She didn’t notice the well-camouflaged man beside him until he moved. Like an alligator in a death roll, he spun himself behind the ridge, out of sight and out of range.
Above the agonized trill of Billy’s shrieks, a voice within Abby shouted, “Move!” The gunman might have seen her muzzle flash. She had to change position. She had to get to her hide.
Skull dragging up the hill, the realization struck. This time, it was real. The consequences of being spotted would not be embarrassment or going back to start. This time, failure would mean death.
Abby’s heart felt like it had divided and spread miniature replicas of itself throughout her body, simultaneously hammering her chest, her throat, her hands, her skull. The numbing sensation made it difficult to move. Billy’s cries made it impossible to concentrate.
She could feel the creeping darkness engulfing her, chilling her. Soon it would be pitch black, and Abby would be fighting blind ... and deaf thanks to Billy. She would never hear an approaching footstep or a snapping twig.
After reaching her hide, Abby surveyed the damage through her scope. Will had been hit in the left shoulder and Gramps wasn’t within her field of view.
Slowly, she retrieved her walkie-talkie. “Gramps?” she whispered, wondering if he could hear anything over Billy’s bawling.
She tried a half dozen times with no response. Was he just being smart? Keeping silent? Or had that first shot ... ?
The question crystallized the air in her lungs.
Abby closed her eyes to shut out the despair and pleading in the toddler’s screams. It was maddening.
There’s nothing I can do, she thought. Not without getting shot. Calm that kid down, Will, before the gunman shoots you again! Dear God, please make him shut up!
Her eyes snapped open, reeling from a moment of fearful clarity. That’s why the shooter had left them alive: to lure her into the line of fire.
Then an even more terrifying thought snaked through Abby. In all likelihood, this guy was an IRGC sniper.
173D
NIKKI ADAMS WAS RUNNING ... for her life. Normally, she would have been too scared of the dark, too scared of the creepy basement; but a monster was chasing her. His footsteps were getting closer.
She ran into a door then gripped the knob with both hands. A monster had tied her wrists together with some plastic stuff that made a zipping sound and pinched her skin.
The knob turned, the door creaked open, and Nikki hurried inside, throwing herself against it. The monster was too strong. He smacked her head with a flashlight, grabbed hold of her dress, and threw her onto a table. Only it wasn’t exactly a table. It was more like that weird paper-covered seat at Dr. Peter’s office, except it was longer and rolling.
He wedged her leg beneath his arm and began taping her other ankle to a piece of metal that felt really cold. He was going to do something bad, Nikki was sure of it, and her parents couldn’t save her. She had seen them get pushed right out of the building.
The monster finished taping both ankles.
“No-o-o-o ... ! Stop it ... ! Leave me alone!”
He pressed a thick piece of tape over her mouth and shoved her backward; then he propped his big gun in the corner and pulled a knife from his pocket. Was this like Hansel and Gretel? Did he eat little kids for supper?
Nikki’s gaze wandered from the blade to the man sneaking up behind the monster. A pair of hands latched onto his head, the knife clanged against the floor, then the monster melted into a puddle just like the wicked witch in The Wizard of Oz!
“It’s okay. He can’t hurt you now,” the man said in a friendly voice. He gently tugged at the tape covering her mouth then said, “What’s your name?”
“Nikki.”
“Nice to meet you, Nikki. My name’s Bradley. I need you to stay here and be quiet. Then I’ll get you away from these bad people. Understand?”
Sniffling, she nodded and watched him leave, closing the door quietly behind him.
Did he lock me in here? What if more monsters come? She began unwinding the tape from her ankles.
It took forever, but she was finally able to hop down off the weird table. Tears dripped from her chin as she searched for the knife. Nikki rubbed the plastic strip against the blade and sawed through it, accidentally cutting herself twice.
That’s when she noticed the monster wasn’t really a puddle. Was he asleep? What if he wakes up?
Nikki shined the flashlight around the room, its circle of light falling on the big black gun. She knew how to use it. She had played her brother’s video game. All she had to do was point it and press the button.
Surprised by how heavy it was, she dragged it behind her and sat down across from the doorway. Nikki aligned the flashlight then leaned back against the wall, raised her knees, and heaved the gun sideways onto her legs. Her belly kept the fat end from sliding, and the bullet end was pointing up toward the door. Her finger grazed the cold shoot button.
I can do this, she thought. The next monster that comes through that door is gonna get shot!
174D
BRADLEY FOLLOWED RYAN into a storage room directly beneath death’s doorway. Barren metal shelving lined the windowless room, and the floor crunched beneath each footstep, crackling like a thin layer of ice. Bradley swept his foot over it as if smoothing sand. It was shattered glass from dozens of fluorescent light tubes.
“Someone had an electricity-deprived temper tantrum,” he whispered, imagining hungry looters finding nothing but useless lightbulbs.
“Not funny,” Ryan said. “If this shit sticks in the soles of our shoes, we’ll be tap dancing down the hallway.”
Smile vanishing, Bradley eased his backpack off his shoulders. He removed twelve bricks of C-4 and a spool of wire with a detonator and shock tube attached at either end.
“I’m not so sure this will be enough to put the building out of commission,” Ryan said as he stripped the green plastic from each brick. “We need a backup plan.”
“Have something in mind?”
“You have a lighter or some matches?”
Bradley stopped molding the bricks and frowned. “You want to set the building on fire?”
“No alarm. No sprinklers. No fire department. They won’t be able to continue operations. At least not here.”
Expressing his objection with a lengthy silence, Bradley resumed molding the explosives. A fire would set the clock ticking, eliminating all flexibility from their timing.
Ryan sensed his reluctance. “You realize that if they’re able to reopen for business, this is all for naught.”
Bradley glanced at the shoebox-sized white blob of explosives. Would it be enough? Could he live with the guilt if it wasn’t?
No, he would have to try again; and next time, it would be more difficult to breach the building. With a resigned sigh, he nodded toward his backpack. “Outer pocket on the right.”
Ryan retrieved a Bic lighter then snapped, crackled, and popped his way to the door. Swearing in smothered whispers, he paused to pick glass from the soles of his wet shoes.
Bradley shuffled his feet, shushing and tinkling toward the exterior wall, pushing glass rather than crushing it, to minimize the shards embedded in his boots. He inserted t
he shock tube into the fifteen-pound block of C-4, wrapped the connected wire around it like a ribbon, and secured it with duct tape to prevent the shock tube from accidentally dislodging.
His thoughts shifted to Kyle. Was he able to stop the pedestrian traffic? Or were refugees still pouring in? He strained to listen, hoping the quiet indicated a respite from the slaughter.
Bradley positioned the C-4 just feet below the executioners. He unraveled twenty feet of wire from the spool and inched toward the door, feet plowing through jagged particles. Just as he began extracting glass slivers from his boots, Ryan returned.
“We’ve got to move. The laundry area was packed with linens. Even looters didn’t want shitty hospital sheets.”
Bradley scurried down the hallway, unwinding the spool while Ryan guided the wire against the wall, where it would be less conspicuous.
With fifty feet to go, three rapid gunshots boomed.
Where the hell did they come from?
Frenzied footsteps were charging down the stairwell.
“We need to get the fuck out of here,” Ryan grumbled.
“Not without Nikki,” Bradley said, reaching for the doorknob.
175D
HEARING THE HUM OF insect night song and the guttural croaking of bullfrogs, Abby sighed. Billy’s cries had abruptly ceased. Did he fall asleep? Did the bullet injure him too? Are Gramps and Will bleeding to death?
Unrelenting guilt boomeranged between her conscience and common sense.
I should try to help them ... but then I’ll get shot ... but I should do something ...
She had been holding back unwelcome thoughts, allowing them to accumulate like floodwaters behind a levee, and now they were about to rupture with destructive fury.
I’m counting on you to keep everybody safe.
And Gramps and Will had been shot.
She had let Gramps down, let Bradley down, let everyone down.
A layer of sweat blossomed. Her hands began to tremble.
“Snipers don’t fall apart under pressure,” she whispered to herself. “Think, damn it!”
The full moon had just peeked above the eastern horizon, its light barely sufficient to distinguish roadway from woods. Her scope and iron sights were nearly useless, and the nightscope was lying in the street.
Is the sniper equipped with night vision? Thermal imaging?
The possibility undulated through her nervous system until a snapping sound snared her attention. Veiled by the fading twilight, a hunched-over figure with a long gun was creeping along the house. Abby angled her scope toward the target.
Aunt Laura ... Oh, no ... ! How can I warn her without giving away my posit—
A solitary gunshot rendered the question moot.
Abby’s head jerked toward the sound. She repositioned her rifle then grabbed the twine with her left hand, rolling the rough fibers between her fingers.
God, I could really use your help, she thought, slowly tugging the string.
The AK-47 boomed with successive shots.
Pulses of light winked.
She released the twine, but it must have snagged on a branch because the fully automatic weapon continued spitting bullets until the magazine emptied.
Then she saw a muzzle flash. The sniper had returned fire.
Abby didn’t think. Her rifle barrel instinctively lurched toward the flash, and she fired, regretting it before the sound of the blast had waned.
Another stupid emotional reaction, she thought. There was no way she could have hit him, and she had foolishly risked giving away her position; then an even more dire realization rocked her.
Dumb, Abby! Stupid, stupid, STUPID!
Snipers substantiated “kills” by collecting personal items from their targets. If he located the AK-47, the twine would lead him directly to her.
( ( ( 87% Complete ) ) )
176D
WITH FOOTSTEPS CLOSING, Ryan and Bradley had ducked into the nearest room, a claustrophobic closet packed with portable oxygen tanks.
The Marine was crouched beside the partially opened door, head protruding like a dog enjoying a car ride.
“You see anything?” Ryan whispered.
Bradley leaned backward and gingerly closed the door. “Two guards are in the hallway, searching room by room.”
Ryan rolled his head back then let it fall forward.
I knew that kid was going to fuck up this mission. Why did I let Bradley guilt me into intervening?
“It doesn’t make sense,” Bradley was saying. “They could’ve quietly slit her throat. Why risk the civilians hearing gunfire? And why three shots to take out a five-year-old?”
“We’ve got bigger problems.” Ryan squeezed his aching forehead. “You broke that guy’s neck. Nikki couldn’t do that. They’ll canvas the building. Find the C-4. And us. Now do you get it? Good deeds—no matter how noble—can have unintended consequences. The kid died anyway. And now we’re trapped inside a burning building.”
“And whose idea was that?”
“The blame game’s a waste of time.” Ryan thumbed the safety of his inherited rifle to be sure it was not engaged then eased open the door. “Let’s take care of those guards and get the fuck out of here.”
177D
KYLE HAD STOPPED THE eastbound refugees a quarter mile from the extermination camp, close enough for the glow of electric lights to seduce and beckon the crowd.
That building’s a human bug zapper, he thought.
Using night vision, he estimated close to a hundred refugees were gathered on Route 441. He had expected foot traffic to diminish after sunset. Instead, it was steadily increasing as if people felt safer moving around in the darkness.
Kyle scanned their restless, impatient faces. People stared at the lights longingly, as if they marked a magic gateway, a return to life the way it used to be. He understood their feelings, the relief, the craving for normalcy.
But how would they react when that hope exploded before their eyes? Would they slip back into zombielike despondence? Or would they become angry—with him?
If Kyle had followed orders and stopped the line a mile back, he could have released the refugees and slipped away before the big ka-boom.
“Let’s go, Sergeant. We’re tired and hungry.”
“My son needs a doctor.”
“Come on, Man. You said one hour. Time’s up.”
He’s right, Kyle thought glancing at Ryan’s ruggedized watch. The C-4 should have gone off fifteen minutes ago. Something was wrong. A technical problem? Or did Bradley and Ryan get caught?
Dread seeped from every pore, drenching him, siphoning body heat, making him shiver in the cool evening air.
A man climbed atop a BMW and began to chant, “Food now!” His clenched fist thrust angrily skyward, and a few voices joined his refrain. The chorus grew stronger, louder, angrier, until nearly everyone was shouting in unison. Fists, guns, and knives pumped like pistons.
The ringleader descended from the BMW and marched toward Kyle, his mechanized mob falling into step behind him. “Are you going to stop us, Sergeant?”
Stunned and bewildered, Kyle stepped to his left, symbolically removing himself from the man’s path. A river of bodies flowed past either side of him. A few people hurled curses at him; most offered sympathetic smiles, acknowledging that he was just doing his job.
It was a mass exodus of good people following an idiot. Instead of anger, Kyle felt an overwhelming compassion, especially for the fathers.
There, but for the grace of God, go I.
178D
THE MONSTER HAD MOVED. Nikki was sure of it. That’s why she’d pressed the shoot button, and now her ears hurt so much, even worse than that earache last year. She wedged her hands against them, trying to shut out that buzzing sound.
The big gun was nothing like her brother’s video game. It was louder and scarier than thunder, and it didn’t shake like the game controller. It came to life, jumping, kicking her belly so hard that she could
n’t breathe. Real guns were nowhere near as fun as PlayStation.
She shined the flashlight toward the monster. His eyes and mouth were open, and there was a dark spot where his nose was supposed to be.
Now he’s dead ... But what if he turns into a zombie?
The door to the room suddenly flew open.
More monsters!
Nikki closed her eyes and squeezed the button again, hanging onto the bouncing gun, even though it felt like all the bullets were flying into her ears.
179D
BACK PRESSED INTO A doorway alcove, Ryan waited for the prolonged burst of gunfire to subside.
“Somebody just capped the two guards,” Bradley whispered.
“This floor’s gonna be crawling with enemy soldiers. We have to move. Now!”
They hustled through the hallway, unraveling the detonation wire. Illuminated by night-vision goggles, soot particles whirled like ghostly apparitions and stung Ryan’s eyes. Acrid smoke tickled his throat, and he resisted the urge to cough. He glanced at the dead men slumped across the threshold; then rifle leading the way, finger on the trigger, he nodded to Bradley and pivoted into the open doorway.
180D
EVERYTHING HAD CHANGED in less than a minute. Will hadn’t reacted fast enough to that first shot, assuming that Abby had discharged her weapon. Then a bullet had struck his left shoulder, and the kinetic force knocked him to the ground. A piercing pain had spiraled through his core, magnifying in intensity, making his chest feel like an overinflated balloon about to rupture.
Instinctively, he’d shielded his son and tried to calm the screaming toddler.
Since then, Will had been lying on the ground, afraid to move.
Should I try to fight back? Is it wise to draw more fire toward Billy?
With slow protracted movements, he kicked off his left sneaker, removed his sock, and stuffed it into his wounded shoulder to slow the bleeding. Minutes elapsed with no additional gunfire, and Billy’s crying gave way to sleep. Then the ominous quiet inspired a chilling realization.
The gunman doesn’t want me dead. If he did, he would’ve finished me off by now. Does he want me to suffer and bleed out slowly? Or is he using me for bait?
Powerless- America Unplugged Page 100
