“It’s not about what you want. It is about what he wants,” the Reverend said looking behind the alter at the crucifix hanging from the ceiling.
John looked up at the wooden man hanging above him. The sad pleading face starring back at him with the thorns cutting into his skull and nails driven through his hands and feet.
“What does he want?”
“You have a gift and he is working through you,” the Reverend said stepping down to John's level. “In biblical times there were super soldiers that fought for the Israelites. Small groups would go on raiding parties and when they came back they had to spend three days outside the city cleaning themselves and purifying their minds before they came back home. I see you have a lot of demons. As a warrior for God you have a responsibility to fight for him. You were guided by God to do what you did today. I didn’t see John, I saw St. Michael on that street killing those heathens.”
“And the boy?” John had to know what the purpose of a child being killed served.
“He was hardly a boy. A young man with a machine gun is just as deadly as a grown man.” the Reverend explained. “Everyone grows up quickly these days. Much too soon in some cases.” The Reverend looks toward the back of the church as Isabel walks in.
Isabel looked across the long room at her father. He had a feeling the look wasn’t directly sighted at him but the man he was talking to. She turned around and walked out of the church.
“Too quickly, are they growing up,” the Reverend sighed. “I want you to spend three days outside of the camp. Clear your head. Accept your role in the Lord’s Army. Accept your gift.”
John walked out of the church and left to the outskirts of the neighborhood. He brought his weapons with him, still not trusting of the men in the group to steal them for themselves. He found a house that was abandoned and didn’t have bodies in it from the winter before. He spent the next three days cleaning, reading and doing the physical training he learned in the Army. It was all he had. He had seen the Muslims bathing and cleansing themselves of their sins while in Afghanistan and Iraq. He didn’t want to do anything that followed their example. He wondered if that was what he was doing. He didn’t want to be associated with their brand of fanatic ideology. On the third day she showed up.
In the doorway John heard wood creaking. He saw Isabel with her outline being enhanced by the sunlight behind her.
“Hello handsome,” she said as the door shut behind her.
“I don’t think your father would want you to be here,” John said as she walked toward him.
“Don’t worry about what my father wants,” she said taking her top off.
“But he would kill me if he knew,” John said.
“He won’t know,” she said gripping him by the neck and interlocking her lips with his.
He pushed himself off of her.
“I can’t,” he said.
“yes you can,” she insisted.
John found himself undoing her bra as he had done with so many women before. He didn’t remember putting her on the kitchen table, but she was sitting on it in front of him. Her breasts exposed to him and both of their hearts racing.
“I can’t, your father,” he tried to argue himself out of what was happening.
Her hand slapped against his face.
“Do you want my father or me?” she asked.
The shock of the strike send him into a place of fight or flight. He decided to fight.
He gripped her pants and pulled them off of her.
“That’s the John I saw the other day,” she said as he tossed her pants to the corner of the kitchen.
“Shut up,” he said as he looked at her exposed body.
“Wait, wait. You can have me, just not like the other girls.” she said.
He was confused.
“Stop fucking with me,” he said.
“You can have me. But in another way.”
Isabel lowered her feet to the floor and bending over the table for him.
It took a few seconds but he soon realized what she was saying. With a few globs of saliva on his hand applied to his member he enter her from behind and took his aggression out on the Reverend's daughter. He was surprised at her enjoyment of it. Any woman he had tried to take in this way disliked it. It was something off limits to him until now and he took full advantage of it. They found some lubricant in the bathroom upstairs and continued their fornication into the evening. Before nightfall she went back to the church and he was left by himself in the house. For once he felt relieved. Maybe it was what he needed.
She was an attractive girl. Her hourglass figure and blonde hair made her attractive. He enjoyed gripping her breasts and the firm smooth flesh of her buttocks against his groin. He knew it wasn’t meant to last. Her father would not approve no matter how many Muslims he killed in the coming months.
The next morning he walked back to the church and found a happy greeting from the parishioners. People slapped him on the back and hugged him. Women thanked him for bringing their husbands home from the battle. A smile grew on his face from the homecoming he always wanted from the battlefield of the middle east. The homecoming he never received.
Isabel was the last of the people to come up to him and gave him a very impersonal hug. He wanted more from her but realized that what they had the day before was something that only existed at that moment and nowhere else. She patted him on he back like a buddy and he realized she was only making a show of the moment for the rest of the church.
The Reverend stepped out of the church and welcomed the war hero home from his leave. He gripped John's hand and brought him in for a hug. Like his daughter the Reverend patted him on the back. He knew he wasn’t part of their group. Was he being played? He felt like he was back in the military getting the most basic of rewards of the most horrible of crimes. Was the daughter sent to reward the war hero with her ass as the prize? He doubted it. He took what was happening and played the part. He waved at the congregation and pretended to be fine while he was disintegrating inside. The sight of the boy falling back and dying before his eyes haunted him. If their was a God how could he ask for the death of a child? The Reverend's words didn’t connect with him.
The possibility of a being outside our reality asking for the death of a child disturbed him. Was that a creature that he wanted to amuse? He pictured the kid falling back in his mind as people congratulated him for his victory over the heathen horde. He smiled nodded. In reality he wanted to puke. These people were insane. No God would ask for this. Jesus would not rejoice at the death of a child. The war he was involved in now was worse than the war he fought overseas. These people were the same as the people he fought in Iraq and Afghanistan. The only difference was the God they claimed to praise. There wasn’t much difference there either. They both followed an Abrahamic religion. Whether they liked it or not their religions followed the same path to the same end. He was now an instrument of death in a quest that both sides followed. The conquest of a land that didn’t need to me conquered. Two sides were fighting for the purification of a land that was pure. Both sides claimed to be pure in a stained world. John was caught in the middle of a war that would not see an end until religion was abandoned or the last follower of these faiths were killed. He hoped it wasn’t him. He wasn’t a follower he was a pawn like he was before in Army. He knew it now but the Reverend and Isabel had blinded him in the reality of his situation. He was a pawn in a larger game he never decided to play. He was good at the game but everyone died at the end. This was not a game he wanted to play anymore.
Chapter 13
The spring had been cold and wet. Food was becoming rare to find in the city. Amir and Fatima had the best luck searching homes that had been occupied by people struck down by the flu. The sight of dead bodies must have scared others away. The duo wore scarves as they went into the smell of decaying flesh. They would quickly grab any food that was in wrappers and Fatima would wash the outside before opening the container. As a doct
or she knew the bodies weren’t contagious. There was some comfort in that, the most disheartening thing about the spring was the number of dead they were finding. Fatima wasn’t convinced it wasn’t all from the flu. There were plenty of places that had bodies but didn’t have any food either. The size of the bodies told her it was a long horrible death of starvation.
Fatima shined a light on a corpse in a bedroom. The body didn’t belong to an older person. She lifted the sheets and looked more closely. The skin had hardened and the body was starting to mummify. Tattoos told of a adventurous life and stretch marks told her the man was well fed. She guessed the body was no more than eighty pounds.
“What are you doing?” Amir said as he walked by the room and stopped in the doorway.
“He starved to death,” Fatima said.
“Of course, there is no food here,” Amir said as if the facts were obvious.
They had noticed the Lord’s Army had been marking the doorways of buildings they had already searched. They stuck to these areas thinking they would be safe and the Army wouldn’t come back to search these places again. The dead had become their friends, the only people they didn’t have to worry about trying to kill them.
They stayed with the same routine all summer. The only bright side was how the bodies no longer gave off a smell as they dried out or were eaten by wild animals. There were times when Fatima would find kitchen knives and wonder if she should just end it.
Both of them lost weight, she couldn’t remember being so thin except before college. Her maternity weight was gone, her cheeks no longer held baby fat. Her hair was still thick but it was losing the shine.
Amir wasn’t a large man when they met and she didn’t think he was naturally heavy before the Day. His beard never fully grew in, patches of fir never filled in to connect together.
Fatima and Amir’s life mirrored that of many animals in the wild, like deer. They would hide during the day and move in the morning or evening hours when people were not out scavenging yet.
Later summer had come, and it was a hot summer. Air conditioning didn’t exist anymore and Fatima had made paper fans to keep cool in the long hours of the day. Their bags were becoming lighter finding less food. Soon they would be carrying blankets and bedding for the winter.
The sun was setting in the distance and Amir was looking out the windows and doors to see if their path was clear to the next building.
“Ok, it’s clear,” Amir said stepping outside and staying close to the walls. Fatima followed behind as they went to the building they had chosen hours before.
Amir couldn’t get the door open and instead pried a window, breaking the lock, but keeping the window functioning. They tossed their bags inside and climbed through.
Inside, they made sure nobody was there then set up camp for the night. Fatima looked for winter clothes and items they could start putting together. Amir went to the kitchen to search the cupboards. He found some crackers and cans of soup. Other random items were placed on the counter and he was happy to see the new variety of food to eat. Having learned from Fatima to wash the wrappers Amir went to the sink and poured water from his canteen over them. He glanced up hearing something outside.
Looking out the kitchen window he saw two men across the yard. He dropped to the floor and then crouched up to peek outside. The two men were overlooking a row of canisters. They added one to the row and then disappeared around the building. When Amir looked at the building he knew it was a church and instantly started to panic. He left the food and went into the hall to find Fatima.
“We have to leave.” Amir said.
Fatima started to follow him.
“What is it? What happened?” She started to ask.
Amir took her to the kitchen and they crouched across the floor to the window.
“There, it’s them. The Christians,” he said pointing to the building.
Fatima didn’t panic. She was already thinking of what to do next. She had often thought about what she would do if given the opportunity to avenge her sons.
“We are staying,” she said.
“No, we have to go.”
“We stay,” she said.
“I am the man here. I say we go,” Amir said.
Fatima jolted her hand out striking Amir in the throat with the web of her hand. It wasn’t hard enough to crush the trachea. The move taught to her at a self defense class the hospital had for work place violence. She had changed. This was her moment.
“I am not the submissive Islamic woman you think I am,” Fatima said. “Don’t make that mistake again.”
Fatima grabbed a can of soup from the counter and opened the lid. She didn’t bother to add water instead eating the bean and bacon soup straight out of the can. She had played an image to not ruffle any feathers. Now she was done. She would be herself. She was finished pretending to be somebody else while the her sons’ killer was still out there.
Amir caught his breath and left the room. His throat still hurt and he was in shock from being disrespected. He had never encountered a woman who would strike a man. He had seen many things while working at the gas station. He knew that American women were capable of such horrible behavior but never suspected Fatima of being like these barbaric people. He wanted to leave, but had nowhere to go.
Starring out the window Fatima plotted her next move. She admitted to herself she didn’t know if her sons’ killer was there. It didn’t matter. The fact she had to be in hiding from these people because of the color of her skin was enough to justify what she would do next. If the person responsible for her sons was there than this was more than justified.
That night she waited. She watched the church and around midnight no longer saw a guard walk by the building. They had patrols, random, but she was guessing every hour. The moon was working its way across the sky. She crawled out of the window.
Her arm was gripped by a hand.
“Where are you going?” Amir said from inside.
“Going to give us our freedom,” she said prying his hand from her arm.
She moved in the shadows. Behind the building was the yard to the church. There was a thirty yard stretch where she would be out in the open. She moved quickly across the tall grass and found the canisters along the wall. There must have been over thirty in different shapes, sizes, and colors. She twisted the cap off of the closest one and smelled the gasoline inside. She was hoping that’s what it was inside containers.
Carefully, Fatima moved along the wall and looked around the corner into the parking lot. An old Chevy Impala sat next to the gas cans and a pickup truck was parked on the opposite corner of the lot. She recognized the truck as the one that took Amir and her to the Islamic camp. Now she knew these were the people that had been roaming the streets attacking so called “foreigners.”
Unscrewing the gas cap she had her plan. He poured the liquid over the stockpile of fuel. She created a trail to the Impala and covered the car. She opened the gas cap and stuffed a rag into the hole. She had seen this on television. She didn’t know if she was going to blow herself up and she didn’t care. If it in some way hurt these people, it would be worth it.
She took out her lighter and watched the rag puff into flames. She stepped back and the flames grew over the roof and hood of the car. The heat tingled her face and pushed her back into the parking lot. The explosion wouldn’t be long now. She ran across the parking lot and hide behind one of the neighboring buildings.
She watched as the flames spread over the gasoline canisters. Her eyes were wide, amazed at the destruction she caused. In a faction of a second one canister blew and took the rest with it. The brick wall caved in bringing down the roof on that half of the building.
Her heart was racing. She wanted to watch more but people started flooding out of the doors looking at the flames. She wished she could have blown up the truck as well and take away their prize.
Fatima ran, tripping over items she couldn’t see in the darkness. Pounding on the d
oor she was covered in bruises, scrapes, and smelled like gasoline. Amir opened the door.
“What did you do?” he said.
She ran past Amir pushing him out of the way. She picked up her bag and went back to the door.
“Come on,” she said heading back out the door.
Amir shouldered his bag and continued trying to clean glass shards from his hair. As they ran down the street he could feel the pokes and stings of glass caught in his collar.
A few blocks away they stopped and went into a building they spent the night in a few days before. They kicked in the door and went to the basement. Fatima pulled out her lighter and started to flick the starter.
“No,” Amir said his former gas station attendant days coming back. He remembered yelling at smokers who thought it was ok to light up while filling their gas tanks.
He pulled his lighter out and set it on top of the hot water heater.
“We need to get the gasoline off of you,” Amir said.
Fatima removed her coat and her skirt smelling the toxic fumes. She pulled out a pair of pants from her bag she had grabbed a day before and put them on. Her shoes had gasoline on them, but didn’t have any way to replace them. Fatima tossed the clothes where they had a fire a few days before. The streets will be filled with people soon looking for the culprits of the arson.
“I can’t believe you did that,” Amir said.
“Somebody had to,” she said still checking her clothes.
Amir took a mirror from his bag and stood by the lighter. He looked for more glass and pulled a small piece from his neck.
“What happened to you?” she asked walking over to him.
“When the gasoline blew, the window shattered in the kitchen,” he said looking for more shards.
Fatima took over the job and looked through his hair and clothes for glass. The small shards and cubes were everywhere. She tried to find as much as she could.
“I’ll look for more in the morning,” she told him.
Remnants of the Day- The Lost Years Page 16
