The Unlikely Defenders

by Scott Haworth

  Her husband snorted as if the idea was ludicrous. “You turned them down, right?”

  “No, actually. I said I’d do it.”

  Her husband dropped his fork which crashed loudly against his plate. He looked up from his dinner to stare Julie straight in the eyes. “What?”

  Julie avoided his stare. She realized the atmosphere had shifted. She tried to think of a way to change the subject but could not come up with anything. There was no dodging the conversation now. “Well it’s just one class during the day. You know how much I’ve missed teaching.”

  “And how do you expect to raise our child when you’re off working?” her husband demanded.

  “It’s only for a few months. Besides, I’m not even pregnant yet,” Julie answered sheepishly. She immediately regretted what she said. She knew exactly what his reaction would be.

  “And that’s my fault?” he screamed, standing from his seat.

  “No, I didn’t mean—”

  Julie’s husband grabbed his plate, still half full of food, and threw it across the dining room. It shattered against the far wall. He moved around the table and grabbed Julie by the arm.

  “Please, I didn’t mean—”

  “I know exactly what you mean, bitch.”

  Her husband pulled her from the chair by her arm. Once she was standing he reached back and slapped her across the face with the back of his hand. She screamed and tried to stumble away from his grip, but that only enraged him more. He cocked his right hand back and punched her in her already bruised eye. He cocked his arm back again and brought his fist into the side of her nose.

  Julie moaned as pain shot through her face. She felt blood begin to leak out of her left nostril. Through her remaining uninjured eye she saw her husband cock his arm back one more time. Despite the chaos and the excruciating pain, Julie had a revelation in that moment. It was not his job or the pregnancy troubles that elicited the violent response from her husband. It was simply because he was sadistic. In that instant she knew she had to leave him. She had to commit to it. God only knew what would happen if she stayed much longer. Julie braced herself for the third and final blow.

  He had left the house when she regained consciousness an hour later. Initially she was lightheaded and had difficulty remembering what had happened. She stayed motionless for several minutes and gained her strength. With great effort she pulled herself up with the help of the dining room table. Julie leaned against the dining room wall and half walked, half slid her way into the bathroom.

  She was appalled by what she saw in the mirror. The bleeding from her nose had stopped, but dried blood caked the bottom half of her face. One of her eyes was swollen almost completely shut. After inspecting the damage she grabbed a long strand of toilet paper and turned on the faucet to wet it. She winced in pain as she started to rub off the dried blood. Julie was only halfway through the process when a sudden wave of nausea hit her. She whipped around and dropped to her knees in front of the toilet. She vomited up the half eaten chicken dinner. She did not bother to stand up after the nausea passed. She turned and pressed her back against the wall as she grabbed another wad of toilet paper to wipe her mouth. Despite everything that happened she felt a glimmer of hope. She knew it was the last time. She was going to leave him now.

  It can’t get any worse than it is right now, she thought to herself.

  Julie had dismissed the vomiting as a stressful reaction to her husband’s attack. The next morning, after her husband had left for work, she was hit by another wave of nausea as she was packing. A wave of panic followed the nausea as realization hit her. It was morning sickness.

  Fadi Haddad knew he would not be able to shake the Palestinian police. They had begun chasing him as soon as he had fled the scene of the Israeli helicopter attack. The world seemed like it had been turned upside down. The idea of Palestinian police working with the Israeli Defense Force was nightmarish. Fadi did not have time to be disgusted.

  After running for a half mile he had turned down an alleyway only to find a dead end. With the police only a few steps behind he turned to face the entrance of the alleyway, his back literally against a wall. He pulled a small nine-millimeter pistol from the back of his pants and crouched down. He aimed the pistol at the entrance to the alley but then hesitated. It would not be Israelis he would be shooting at, it would be his own people. Fadi shook off the thought and repositioned his weapon. They were traitors to the cause and thus his enemy regardless of nationality. In addition to that, there were lots of them and they were armed with assault rifles. The likelihood that he would be able to shoot any of them before being gunned down was slim to none. He was about to become a martyr.

  The police never turned down the alleyway. In a stroke of good luck for Fadi, the first wave of Kessiam pods had chosen that moment to pierce Earth’s atmosphere. The Palestinian police were distracted from their chase by the noise. After a moment they were distracted by a much bigger problem.

  Fadi too was startled by the noise. Having lived in a region prone to aerial attack for his entire life, he immediately recognized the sounds to be sonic booms. As the booms increased he knew it could not possibly be the Israeli Air Force. He remained crouched at the end of the alley with his gun pointed at the entrance. After a few minutes he decided the pursuit had ended. He was cautiously making his way back to the main street when the shooting began.

  As he peaked around the corner the participants of the firefight came into view. To his left a half dozen Palestinian policemen were firing at the street almost directly opposite of him. Their shooting seemed frantic, which was very odd for the police force that had become such a formidable enemy recently. They were spraying the area with bullets and frantically falling back. Fadi turned to where they were shooting but saw nothing at first. Whatever they were shooting at was behind a two story building that was blocking his view. He thought about taking the opportunity to escape but curiosity got the better of him. He knew his comrades had fled in a different direction so they could not be the focus of the attention. He could think of nothing else that would have the police so worried.

  He saw the effects of the Kessiam weapons before he actually saw any of the aliens. Bright flashes of light flickered from behind the building in front of Fadi. He whipped his head back to the left as he heard one of the policemen shout out in pain. He turned back in time to see a group of Kessiams advancing across the street. While he was experienced and well trained to keep cool under pressure, Fadi was taken aback by the development. He stared at the bizarre creatures until he was jolted by a Palestinian policeman.

  The policeman was one of four who had survived the exchange with the Kessiams. He brushed against Fadi while fleeing farther down the street. He completely ignored the man who had been his original target. Priorities had changed.

  As the police ran past, Fadi noticed the Kessiams shifting their aim towards him. He stood straight up and ran at full speed after the fleeing police. They were weighed down by their assault rifles, and he was able to catch up to them about a block down the road.

  “Stop!” Fadi ordered when he was alongside the men.

  Surprisingly the men did stop. They crouched down and scanned the area while panting heavily.

  “Where is your commanding officer?” Fadi asked.

  “Dead,” answered one of the policemen in between gasps for air. “The little bugs killed him with… with their light,” the man said, struggling to find the words to describe the firefight. “Do you know what they are? What is happening?”

  Fadi shook his head. “No, I have no idea. But I know how we should respond,” Fadi said. He waved for the men to follow him back in the opposite direction.

  The four men exchanged worried glances. None of them moved to follow Fadi.

  “Whatever they are, they are attacking Palestine,” Fadi boomed. “You have sworn an oath to protect Palestine. More importantly, you are Palestinian men. If you wish to be cowards you may leave. If you wish to be men you
may follow me. I will be your new leader.”

  With his impromptu speech concluded, Fadi started to jog back towards the group of Kessiams. The others watched as he moved slowly but deliberately with his pistol in hand. All three men reluctantly started after him.

  “Weren’t we just chasing this man?” one of them asked.

  None of the other men responded.

  Fadi snuck to the window of his family’s small house and peaked inside. His father was home again. Fadi ducked down quickly and skittered off down the street. At the age of fifteen he was old enough that he was allowed some amount of freedom. At the very least no one would miss him if he did not come home as soon as school let out. Fadi tried to spend as little time as possible at home when his father was there. At this time of day the presence of his father could only mean one thing. He could not make it to his job again.

  Fadi’s father was one of the many Palestinians who crossed the border to work in Israel every day. After a series of suicide bombings over the last week, Israel had shut its borders. Fadi’s father was always grumpy on days he could not work. He had a wife and three children to care for and no means to do it. For the past week Fadi’s family had been living off of very meager food portions. Fadi longed for a meal that once again included meat.

  Fadi ran down the block to meet up with his group of neighborhood friends. There was little to do, but anything was better than going back home to his depressed father. Most often the boys would sit and talk or fool around until dark.

  Fadi walked up to the group of four boys and patted his best friend on the shoulder. “What’s the news?”

  “Omar has decided he will become a freedom fighter,” his friend Osman said with biting sarcasm in his voice.

  “I will!” Omar said, angry at Osman’s tone of voice. “Hamas will support me, and if I fall to the Jews they will support my family.”

  “If you fall to the Jews?” Osman asked. “I’ve seen you fight around the neighborhood. It is not a question of if you will die but when.”

  Omar lunged at Osman who put up his arms to protect himself. The fight was quickly broken up by the other boys, all of whom found it to be quite funny.

  “What about you, Fadi?” one of the other boys asked. “Would you ever join Hamas?”

  Fadi shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. I am not… not very religious.”

  “Okay, but you must agree that Hamas is better than the Fatah party?” pressed the boy.

  Fadi suddenly felt several sets of eyes on him. He nervously looked to the ground and shrugged his shoulders.

  The boy who had been questioning him playfully wrapped an arm around Fadi’s neck. “My friend, the great follower of politics!” he exclaimed.

  The other boys poked and chided Fadi before moving on to less important issues. As night began to fall the boys started to split off and leave one by one. Osman was the last to go, leaving Fadi to reluctantly slouch his way home.

  He was a block away from his home when the bomb hit. The ground shook so violently that Fadi stumbled and almost fell. As he regained his footing he saw a plume of smoke rising into the air. It was rising from the direction of his family’s home. Without hesitation, Fadi started running.

  As he got close to his house he could see a large crater in the street. Somewhere in the crater were the remains of a terrorist leader who had been the target of an Israeli air strike. The leader and his entourage had been driving right in front of Fadi’s house when the bomb hit. As he got closer and the smoke began to clear, Fadi was able to get a better view of his home. Most of it was gone. Part of the back was still standing but the rest was rubble. Fadi increased his speed.

  Twenty feet before reaching his house a neighbor shot out his arm and pulled Fadi back. “No, you must not go in there.”

  “My family!” Fadi screamed. He twisted and pulled at the man’s arm but it was no use. The neighbor had a strong grip. “Let me go!”

  “They’re gone!” the neighbor yelled. He had meant to deliver the news with more sympathy, but he was aggravated from having to struggle with Fadi.

  Fadi fought violently against the man. Eventually he tired and slumped to the ground. As chaos swirled around him, Fadi sat motionless with tears streaming down his face.

  Jennifer Vaughn ran a half block before she realized she was still holding on to a cup of coffee. She tossed it into the street and began pumping her arms. As she neared the police headquarters building she hesitated and slowed down. In front of the entrance several of the strange creatures were motionless on the ground in a pool of blood. The noises from behind her spurred her forward. The dead aliens in front of her were the least of her concerns.

  She pushed through the door and stopped immediately inside the building. Arranged in a semicircle facing the entrance were a number of police officers with weapons drawn. They had constructed a makeshift barricade of desks and other office furniture. Some were in uniforms while most were in plain clothes. She recognized most of them from around the headquarters, but one face stood out in particular. John McLeary stared back at her with a look of terror in his eyes.

  “Down!” John shouted.

  Jennifer dropped to the floor immediately. She heard a half dozen gunshots while her face was pressed to the ground. She flipped over onto her back and looked towards the entrance of the building. Another alien body was sliding against the wall, leaving a long streak of blood. Jennifer looked back at John who frantically waved at her to come towards him.

  “Have a nice lunch?” John asked sarcastically once she was in earshot.

  “What the hell is going on?” Jennifer asked while crouching down behind an overturned desk next to John. She felt foolish asking the question. She knew exactly what was going on as did everyone else there. Accepting what was going on was the difficult part.

  “I don’t know,” John responded, also unable to accept reality. “Whatever they are, they’re all over the city.”

  “Tell me about it,” Jennifer said. “A dozen of them just appeared out of nowhere and started walking down the street in front of the diner I was eating at.”

  “They shoot at you?”

  “Some of them shot into the crowd,” Jennifer said. “Most of them just kind of… stood around though.”

  John nodded his head. “They keep attacking here piecemeal. Two or three of them at a time every few minutes. They don’t seem to be very well organized.”

  Jennifer looked around at the defensive perimeter set up in the main lobby of the police headquarters. After calming down from the initial shock of the attack, a new idea popped into her head. “We need to get out there! The civilians—”

  “We already tried,” John said, cutting her off. “There are hundreds of them within a few blocks of our building alone. A group of six went out to scout, but only three of them made it back here.”

  “Who?” Jennifer questioned.

  “Goldberg bought it from our department. Marshall and Larson from the third floor,” John listed the names as if he was relaying baseball scores.

  “Shit,” Jennifer responded. It seemed like an appropriate response. She had not known any of the three officers well.

  “We’ve got people at all the entrances. The… bugs haven’t gotten in yet. Holding here sounds like the best bet for now,” John said while turning away from looking at the entrance to look at Jennifer. Jennifer was crouched next to him looking forward. Her pistol was still in its holster. “Why don’t you go upstairs and scrounge some ammo,” he suggested.

  Jennifer followed his gaze down to her sidearm. She looked back up and smiled half-heartedly. “Okay, keep your head down.”

  John snorted loudly. “I’m a lovable, old Irish cop who’s close to retirement. What could possibly go wrong?” he asked with a smirk.

  Jennifer returned the smile before heading towards the stairs in search of ammunition.

  Jennifer Vaughn took regular secret excursions on her days off. She went to a beautiful place that she alway
s thought of as her own little escape. She did not dare tell her fellow officers of her off-duty plans. Her comrades thought that going to the shooting range or working out were the only acceptable forms of off-duty entertainment. They would have chided her terribly if they had known for her love of the Museum of Modern Art.

  The entrance line was unusually long for a Friday morning. Although it was Jennifer’s day off, the schools were still in session. A group of a hundred or so grade school children were waiting restlessly in line before her. They already looked bored to tears and they had not even entered the museum yet. Jennifer smiled to herself and started tapping her foot impatiently.

  Twenty minutes later, after the visiting students had finally been shuffled inside, Jennifer paid her admission fee and entered the museum. She was immediately thankful for one of the perks of her job. She pushed her way past the second line leading to a pair of metal detectors. She held up her badge to the security guard who was standing next to the machine on the right side. He nodded his head and opened up the bypass gate to let her through.

  She beat the children to the first set of exhibits. They had been corralled by a dangerously inadequate number of teachers and chaperones who were explaining proper etiquette. Jennifer strolled slowly past each painting. She passed by some with little more than a glance while spending five minutes appreciating others. She did not have long to herself. Within a few minutes the children started running through the museum in random directions. They screamed and chased each other while completely ignoring the paintings and sculptures.

  Jennifer sighed. It was not the first time her experience had been diminished by a class of students. There was nothing she could do about it. She continued on her way and did her best to ignore them.

  She could not ignore the gunshots that echoed through the museum a few minutes later. Upon hearing the first shot she turned away from the oil painting she had been admiring and instinctively dropped to one knee. Although in plain clothes, Jennifer still had her pistol which she quickly pulled out of its holster. Having the pistol in her hand made her feel at ease despite the surge of adrenaline. A second round of gunshots in a different room was quickly followed by the sound of shrieking children.