by Roger Hayden
"What’s wrong?”
"Nothing. I think my neighbor saw me. No big deal."
He turned around to look and stood up, high on his toes, to peek over the top of his fence. Nothing looked out of the ordinary—some lawn chairs, a patio deck, a tool shed, and a barbecue grill. He looked farther ahead, through the kitchen windows. Inside, the house looked undisturbed. The time was right. He looked at Husein while cupping his hands.
"Here. Hop up. I'm going to lift you over the fence and hand you my rifle."
With one hand against the fence, Husein put his foot in Craig's hand and was hoisted up, about half way. His legs dangled on Craig's side and he was given one last push over. Craig heard a thump.
"You okay?"
"Yeah," he heard Husein say from the other side.
He passed his rifle over the fence. After Husein grabbed it, Craig hopped up and pulled himself over with a heavy grunt. He hit the grass on the other side in thud. Husein was patiently waiting with rifle in hand.
“Follow me,” Craig said.
They moved behind his nearby tool shed and watched the house.
Husein handed him the rifle. "So this is your place?" he asked.
"Sure is," Craig answered.
“It’s nice."
"Thanks."
Craig scanned the back windows. The blinds were down in his bedroom, but he could see through two windows in the kitchen. There was no movement and no signs of forced entry at the back door on the patio.
"Hey, Craig!" he heard his neighbor call out from the other side of the fence. "You back there?"
Husein looked up at Craig in a panic. Craig held a finger to his lips not saying a word.
Scott continued to call out, getting closer to the fence and peeking through. Craig felt both anger and fear. They remained perfectly still as the calls for Craig continued.
"Marie and I are just scared to death over this terrorism thing. We don't know what to do."
At this point, it seemed as if Scott was just talking to himself. Craig's eyes remained on his house, searching for the moment where they could try to move inside. They kept a spare key in a potted plant near the door. Not the best idea, but he was glad for it now.
Scott, having given up, stopped talking and called out to his dog to come back inside. Once his voice drifted away, Craig breathed easier.
"You wait here," he said to Husein. Before the boy could respond, Craig moved, low to the ground, from one bush to the other, until reaching the back patio.
He looked through the blurry glass pane at the door and saw only vacant rooms—nothing trashed or broken. Things were looking more encouraging by the moment. He went to the potted English Ivy plant and dug through the soil, finding the key much to his relief.
The door creaked as he slowly pushed it shut. The house was quiet. The air conditioner was off, and nearly every appliance was unplugged, aside from the refrigerator. Rachael was good about those kinds of things. Craig searched each room as if conducting a raid, half expecting to find an armed militant waiting for him, but each room was clear.
The long blue curtains in the front living room had been drawn closed. Craig moved to the closest window, pulled the curtain slightly in the middle and peeked through. No one was around. Then he saw something.
There was an old four-door Nissan Sentra across the street just sitting there with heavy tint on the windows. The car looked suspiciously out of place. And he could see the figure of a man at the wheel—despite the tint on driver’s side window. Craig immediately backed away. He couldn't believe it. He peeked out again just to be sure. His instincts told him it was a stakeout.
Craig hurried to the back door and called for Husein who then came rushing inside. Craig shut and locked the back door.
"I think they're outside watching us," he said.
Husein bolted and tried to flee back outside. Craig grabbed him and held him back.
"Wait a minute! They don't know we're here. Don't worry.”
Husein looked up, his eyes pleading. "Yes, but what if they grow suspicious? What if they get tired of waiting outside and decide to come in here?"
"That's what I brought this for," Craig said, holding up the rifle. "Now pull yourself together. We know they're out there, and they don't know we're in here. We have the advantage. Now just help me gather some things, and we’ll be out of here in no time.”
In a few minutes’ time, Craig and Husein had gathered and packed his ammunition boxes along with some other supplies—clothes, medical kits, cash, and their passports. They set the backpacks on the living room couch while Craig tried to think of anything else.
There was a picture of him and his family on a bookcase that caught his eye, filling him with longing. In the midst of his emotions surfacing, a shadow moved past the curtains outside, startling him. Craig rushed over, parted the curtains slightly, and looked outside. His neighbor, Scott, was walking to the front door. Craig couldn't believe it. Husein stood frozen, unsure of what to do.
“Get down!” Craig whispered.
Husein knelt down behind the couch just as the doorbell rang.
"Craig!" Scott said from outside. "It's me, Scott. Come on. I just wanna make sure you're okay." He didn't look like he had any intention of going anywhere.
Craig seized at the curtains in a panic. To answer the door would mean instant exposure. The best thing to do was to wait. The doorbell continued.
Husein rose slightly, looking out. "Who is it?"
"It's just my neighbor. The nosy one from next door," he whispered. "Go hide in Nick's room, until he goes away."
Husein ran off. Craig looked back out through the curtains. Scott had indeed gained the attention of the men in the car. All four doors opened revealing five men dressed in black sweat shirts, baggy trousers, and balaclavas—similar to the uniforms Craig had seen ISIS wearing before.
Scott, however, remained oblivious. "Craig? Craig, you in there?" he asked, knocking on the door as if to demonstrate his unwillingness to go.
Go away, you idiot, Craig thought to himself.
From outside, Scott continued. "I know that was you who I saw pass by out back. Where have you guys been? Come on, Craig. You gotta help. You're FBI. Marie and I have no clue what to do. Half the people on this block ran off. We're not safe here."
Craig steadied his rifle, prepared to defend his home and their lives. With a few more knocks, it appeared that Scott finally got the hint. But it was too late. The militants rushed the house, pistols in hand. Craig watched as they ran through the yard, startling his neighbor.
"Holy shit," Scott said, trying to run away. Two militants slammed him against the front door and pointed a gun at his head. Craig could hear the rumbling at the door, as they spread out to other windows, looking inside. One man was right outside the window where Craig stood. His angry eyes, set beneath thick brows, peered in through the window.
"I don't know anything! I don't know!" Scott shouted out as they shook him. He gagged on a pistol they shoved into his mouth. Craig didn’t like the idea of leaving Scott in the hands of these ruthless men.
There was one man at his living room window, two at the door, and two at the other front windows near the foyer. Craig moved quickly from one window to the next, trying to find his best field of fire. The militants were looking in, hands cupped to the glass. One then grew impatient and smashed the foyer window out with the handle end of his pistol.
Craig rolled over and aimed up as the man stuck his head in. One blast of the AK took half the man's head clean off. His body fell back and into the bushes. Commotion and movement followed from outside. The militants shouted to each other in Arabic. One man, crouching at the living room window, began shooting inside as shards of glass exploded.
Craig jumped up and glanced through the curtains. They were dragging Scott away in a chokehold just as one of the men charged at the front door. Craig aimed at the door and fired, taking the kicker down before he could even reach the welcome mat. Angered, the
remaining three militants returned fire and shot through the windows, shattering them to pieces.
Amid the gunfire, Craig dove to the floor, flat on his stomach. He covered his head as shards of glass flew on top of him.
The shooting ceased. Without hesitation, Craig crawled to the nearest open window and fired. He moved to another window and fired again. At the window on the other end, he saw a leg coming in over the sill. One of the men was trying to get in. Craig crawled over to the window as bullets flew overhead. The man was almost inside when Craig raised the AK and blasted the man’s torso open, sending him back outside in a bloody heap.
“Three down, two to go,” Craig said under his breath.
He paused once, and heard Scott crying out. One of the militants began shouting in English.
"We shoot him! We shoot your friend! You come out now!"
Craig looked out the window to the bushes just beyond. Two militants were ducked behind Scott, using him as cover.
The man holding the pistol continued, "More are on their way! We will spare your friend if you surrender."
Craig wasn't an expert marksman, but he did well enough most of the time at the range. He tried to keep the rifle as still as possible and lined up the front sight in the center of the first militant’s head.
"No deal," Craig said. He pulled the trigger. The rifle kicked back. The militant’s brains blasted out of the back of his head. His pistol fell to the ground. Scott threw himself to the grass exposing the last remaining militant who knelt to the ground to retrieve the pistol. Craig aimed and fired, hitting him in the chest. The man collapsed, screaming in pain and clutching his chest.
Dead silence followed. Craig's ears rang. His head throbbed. He hadn't considered the damage to his house yet. He looked outside for anyone else, but saw only Scott, trembling and lying headfirst in the grass.
Craig went to the bullet-ridden door and opened it. He carefully walked outside, past the bodies and stood at Scott’s feet, rifle in hand.
His neighbor looked up with tears in his eyes and squinting. "What the hell was that all about? Who the hell were those guys?"
Craig was blunt. "You put my life in danger, Scott. My only advice to you is to take Marie and get out of town. If they're right and there are more coming, I don't think you want to be around."
"I don't understand what's going on. You've got to help us!" he pleaded.
"Find somewhere to go. Someplace safe. That’s all I can tell you."
Scott rose to his knees, dumbfounded and growing angry. "Oh yeah? And where the hell do you suggest we go? Why don't you tell me what the fuck is going on?" Spittle flew from his mouth. Craig continued to walk away, back into the house. He called out for Husein, crunching on glass with each step. Husein emerged alert and focused. He didn't want to ask Craig what had happened. He was just glad to see him alive. They gathered their things and left the house, just the way they came in, without looking back.
Temporary Sanctuary
The van remained parked where they had left it. Having twisted his ankle, Craig limped as Husein led the way. Each carried backpacks and bags of supplies, the extra weight a noticeable difference from their first trip. Residents looked out of their windows, frightened, as they went past. Police sirens sounded in the distance. All the earlier gunfire did not go unnoticed.
No time to explain anything to the police, Craig told himself.
They opened both sides of the van and tossed all the supplies in the back. Craig slouched down in the driver’s seat, exhausted and in pain.
“Are you okay?” Husein asked, worried by Craig’s pale appearance.
“Yeah, just peachy,” Craig replied.
The police sirens roared from only a few blocks away. He started the van and drove carefully out of the neighborhood to a back road east of the lake. The sudden, uneven pavement made everything inside the van shake. Husein gripped the armrests of his seat as Craig steadily steered through curves and hills, enamored with anticipation of their impending arrival. A thick cloud of dust trailed the van as it roared on, traveling a familiar, beaten path. The glaring sun followed them, sending shafts of flickering light into the van from atop the tree line.
“Your family is at the cabin?” Husein asked.
“I’m counting on it.”
“They drove there, too?”
“No, they took our boat through the lake.”
“Why did they not just drive, like us?”
“Because it’s faster on the boat. I can only get us so close. From there, it’s going to take some walking.”
Husein groaned and then turned around to look out the back windows of the van. No one was following them. There was only dust.
“Do you think the police will find us?” Husein asked, sounding worried.
“No. We’ll be fine.”
Craig’s mind brewed with thoughts—none of which made him feel any better. His world had imploded, and he was hanging on by a single thread.
Rachael was worried. She hadn’t heard from Craig in over twenty-four hours. The news of an attack on an FBI convoy had made it to the radio. Earlier, when she had a phone signal, she had called the agency repeatedly, but reached only an automated message saying that all lines were busy.
Now her cell phone barely got reception. Perhaps the towers were overloaded, or perhaps something more sinister was happening. It was only morning and she didn’t know how she was going to get through another day without Craig. Nick had grown restless and irritable.
Being away from his friends and video games was already starting to take its toll. He had grown testy with Rachael when she asked him to do the slightest thing, and more than once, they came close to arguing. Her patience was nearing an end.
“Thousands of people are dead, Nick. Do you understand that?” she had snapped at him the day before. He had looked hurt as a result of her heavy words.
“I’m sorry,” she had said.
After the exchange, Nick had started to be more helpful. They had cleaned the cabin and inventoried their canned food, powdered liquids, and other supplies.
That morning, striving for normalcy, she got started on breakfast: precooked sausage and powdered mashed potatoes from the food supply. Nick was awake and walked out of his room eager for a news update.
“Any word from Dad yet?” was his first question.
“Not yet,” she answered. She pointed to some empty gallon jugs on the counter of their cramped kitchen. “Can you fill these up with water from the pump, please?”
“No problemo,” he said, grabbing them up and heading outside.
She heard the patio screen door slowly wheeze and slap shut. Rachael placed a heavy frying pan over one of the burners of their propane stove and turned it on. Unwrapped sausage links rested on the counter to her side. Above the sink was a small open window where daylight streamed inside. She looked out and saw nothing more than trees, elms mostly, their leaves moving in the morning breeze.
She expected another hot day and had already opened all the screened windows. They had a few solar-powered and electrical portable fans placed throughout the cabin just to circulate the air. The radio in the kitchen was always on. It barely left her side, along with her cell phone. And as she heard the latest morning reports on the terrorist attacks, she knew that they had made the right decision fleeing to the cabin.
The news announcer continued, “A massive hunt is underway for the terrorists involved in the deadly port attacks that have led to mass casualties and evacuations of some of the most populated areas throughout the country. In a quick and decisive retaliation, several drone strikes have swept through targets in Iraq and Syria in an attempt to eliminate ISIS leaders allegedly responsible for planning the attacks.
“A formal declaration of war has not been issued. Emergency responders and military personnel have since been deployed to contaminated port areas with high levels of radioactivity and chemical fallout.”
Rachael tossed the sausages into the frying pan and
then set both hands on the counter. As the food sizzled and popped, she lowered her head and quietly sobbed. She could hear Nick outside pumping water and tried to get control before he returned.
She caught her breath, raised her head, and opened her watery eyes just as she heard Nick call from outside.
“Dad!”
Rachael turned quickly to the front door, knocking over an empty coffee pot and some dishes onto the floor. She stepped over the mess and rushed outside, down the steps, and to the side of the cabin. Two abandoned water jugs sat next to the pump. Nick had run off toward a scraggly, disheveled-looking man who had emerged from the trees and brush with a boy who looked like a teenager.
She squinted in the sunlight and took a second, closer look, calling out to Nick to come back. The man was wearing a hat that shadowed his face. His face was bruised, and he walked with a limp. One eyelid was half shut. He was armed with a rifle and carrying a backpack, his blue T-shirt covered in sweat.
She had no clue who the teenager was. Nick ran into the man’s arms. She could see it now. Like something out of a dream, it was Craig. She sprinted across the dirt as her flip-flops flew off.
“Dad, you’re here!” Nick said.
Rachael ran past Nick and threw her arms around Craig, nearly knocking him over. Husein moved to the side, startled by the sudden commotion.
“Hey, everyone,” Craig said, exhausted and with a weary smile.
“Where have you been?” Rachael asked.
“How did you get here?” Nick said.
Rachael looked up at him and gasped. “What happened to your face?” She ran her hand across his cheek, feeling the bumps and bruises.
“Did you get in a fight?” Nick asked in wonder.
“Something like that. It’s nothing, really. I’m fine.”
“We were so worried,” Rachael said.
Craig rubbed her back. “I’m proud of you guys. You made it here in one piece.”
Rachael backed away with a more stern expression. Tears glistened on her cheeks. “I want to know everything. What happened and where you’ve been. Why haven’t you called? Do you know how worried I’ve been?”
