Day of Reckoning

by G. Michael Hopf

David looked at his watch, five minutes to six.

  “With Dr. Schumarr’s books, the ones I mentioned before, me and my partners went in search of the best and brightest virologists, biologists, anyone who was the best in their field that could help us. That took us a while, and when we found them, we ran into our next obstacle, money. I looked around the world. Who had the means and the mutual hatred for America? I said to myself. I found it in a man, a man with huge financial resources, a billionaire who desperately wanted to see the United States transformed, and to do so, it needed to be destroyed. I presented our plans, not all of them, but enough to get him enticed. He bought in and financed the further research we needed. Our financial backer—”

  “Who was it?”

  “You’ll know him, Mr. Jorge Sorossi.”

  “I do, the billionaire hedge fund guy. He’s very active in politics.”

  “That’s him. With his backing, we could perfect our weapon. Mr. Sorossi came with a bonus that proved to be highly beneficial, his network and influence was deep and wide. We could get him to influence court decisions, policy, legislation, you name it. Over the past two years, he helped shape things that made it easier for us to create the infrastructure so our plan would be successful.”

  “This is a vast conspiracy?”

  “It is, but the parts—or better yet, let me explain it this way. Let’s say the hub of a wheel is the conspiracy and the spokes are all the people and organizations or groups that are assisting. The thing is, the spokes don’t know what the hub really is and in fact don’t know they’re part of a bigger plan.”

  “Lies and deception?”

  “Exactly,” Joram said and pointed to the television. “You see those images of riots across the United States and in the UK? All a deception. They’ve been recruited, told the hub is about civil disobedience towards an administration they hate. The media is so willing to help they feed that narrative and fuel the outrage. Working in tandem, they help distract and overwhelm law enforcement and other emergency services. While this is all happening in the open, we move, slithering like a snake, putting our pieces into position.”

  “And the politicians?”

  “Not all but some are bought and paid for. They will go against anything we tell them to. That judge in Hawaii who put that injunction against the president’s executive order, one of our judges, or I should say, one of Mr. Sorossi’s judges. He was all too willing to help because he thought he was resisting the president, but he also liked the money he got. Ever wonder how many politicians enter rich and leave stinking wealthy? The system is corrupt. We leveraged that. With that one judge’s injunction, we could keep flooding the United States with fighters. We used your freedoms and your Constitution against you; we used it to destroy it.”

  “I just can’t believe that judge is a paid agent of Mr. Sorossi.”

  “Don’t believe it, doesn’t matter what you believe, it’s true. You don’t want to believe because it runs counter to your own political leanings. If it doesn’t fit, you discount it. Another failing of your media and politics. There is no truth in your country, only political perspective.”

  “Our media isn’t perfect, but we are not propaganda.”

  “If you say so,” Joram said, catching the time was now five fifty-eight.

  “What is the attack? What are you planning?”

  “Sticking with deception, and because it’s just so perfect we couldn’t resist, we will strike conventionally. Our targets, elementary schools and airports. The schools are an easy target, not guarded, one can just walk up and begin shooting. The airports? Because we want to shut them down, cut off all commerce.”

  “You’re going to attack and murder children?” David asked, shocked.

  “Depends on how you define murder.”

  “I think there’s only one definition and what you’re about to do fits it.”

  “Yet you still sit here, listening. If you’re so appalled, why haven’t you gotten up to find the closest security officer?”

  David lowered his head because Joram was right.

  “Once the first wave of attacks is over, Israfil will present himself. He will come forth and deliver the final blow.”

  “Who is Israfil?”

  “Do you want to meet him?”

  David gulped and hesitated. “Is he here?” He looked around.

  “He is,” Joram said. He looked up to see the time was six. “Before you meet him, I want you to watch. Look at the television monitors at the McDonald’s.”

  San Diego, California

  Like he had since Copenhagen, Brett was glued to the television. The news from Paris concerning the bombing inside Notre Dame Cathedral sickened him. A lover of history and architecture, seeing the historic building suffer, too, added to his anger. Yes, it seemed odd to be angry about that, but he was. In the lower right-hand side of the screen, a shot of the protests nationwide was being shown. The newscaster was flipping between the riots and the bombing in Paris.

  There just seemed like so much was happening. A quickening of sorts. He could feel it, hell, he was watching it, but for Madison, she couldn’t. In a weird way, she was blind to it. This was the normalcy bias Chris talked about.

  Disgusted by it all and his current situation, Brett turned the television off. Today would be his first day back to work, but he planned on working from home, as there was no way he’d be making it in on time.

  He strolled to his office and plopped into his leather roller chair. He turned the television on but put it on mute. He started his computer and waited for it to boot.

  Yesterday had been an unmitigated disaster for him. How stupid could he have been to leave the gun in the center console. He just never imagined Will would go digging in there for gum only to find a gun. Seeing his youngest holding up the Glock terrified him.

  Madison had every right to lose it over that. He had messed up and that incident could have been very bad. Thankfully, Will hadn’t tried to squeeze the trigger.

  He bent over and stretched. After another night on the couch, his back was feeling it.

  His e-mail folder began to populate with dozens of unread e-mails. After taking a week off, he’d be burning the midnight oil to catch up.

  He stared at his computer screen. The motivation to work just wasn’t there. “Fake it till you make it,” he said out loud, taking a hold of his mouse and clicking on the first e-mail.

  An image popped up on the television, catching his eye. He glanced over. It was a man dressed in a hooded cape, his face masked by shadowing.

  Brett grabbed the remote and raised the volume.

  “…a man calling himself the twelfth imam has just sent us this transmission. He claims to represent The Bloody Hand. We’ve reviewed this message and have forwarded it to law enforcement. After careful review and deliberation from our editorial staff, we have decided to show it to you. Please, this is sensitive in nature, only for mature audiences. If children are in the room, please turn off the television or make sure they leave,” the newscaster said.

  Brett leaned in. The disclaimer grabbed his full attention.

  The screen went back to the man in the hooded cape.

  “My name is Joram. I am the twelfth imam and I represent The Bloody Hand. We are Allah’s right hand. The hammer that has been sent forth to destroy the infidel and usher the worldwide caliphate. For many years, we have warned the United States and its Western European puppets to leave the Middle East, but you did not adhere. Today we strike back. Today we get our vengeance. Once this day is over, you will regret everything you have ever done against the Muslim people.” The voice stopped talking. A loud horn sounded and persisted for thirty seconds. “And so it begins,” the voice concluded. The screen turned black and a red hand appeared.

  “What the hell was that?” Brett said loudly, astonished at what he had seen.

  “As you can see, the video is dark, foreboding…”

  A loud boom sounded not far off.

  Brett
sat motionless. “What was that?”

  The rattle of automatic gunfire echoed across the sky to the south.

  Brett leapt from his chair and sprinted towards the back door, his phone in his hand. As he ran, he thumbed to Madison’s phone number and pressed call.

  The phone rang.

  Madison answered, “Yes.”

  “The school, it’s under attack. Hurry home; it’s under attack!”

  “Not again. Are we doing this again? I’ve had it, Brett. Seriously, grow up,” she said and hung up.

  Brett shoved the phone in his pocket and opened his stride.

  The roar of gunfire filled the air.

  He cleared the last corner. The school was in view.

  A smoldering vehicle sat at the single-lane drive in front. People were running and screaming in all directions away from the school.

  A flash and loud boom shook the ground. The concussion of the blast struck Brett making him wobbly.

  Cries and wails were everywhere.

  The gunfire kept thumping.

  Brett ran passed weeping and bleeding children, all hurrying to get away from the carnage. He jumped over a small fence and into the parking lot. He felt defenseless not having a weapon.

  A plume of black smoke rose from the school entrance.

  Madison had dropped the boys off early; that meant they were either lined up in the multipurpose room or already walking towards their classrooms.

  Brett hurdled bodies and debris.

  “Hey Brett, over here!” Chris cried out.

  Slowing to see where Chris was, Brett didn’t see Lateef run up to him.

  “Allah Akbar!” Lateef hollered, he pulled the trigger of his AK47 but nothing happened. “Argh!” he bellowed.

  Not waiting for him to reload, Brett sprinted off.

  “Hey Brett, over here!” Chris again cried out from behind a parked car in the parking lot.

  Lateef reloaded. He had seen Chris hiding and snuck up on him.

  By the time Chris noticed Lateef was there, it was too late.

  “Allah Akbar!” Lateef cried out and pulled the trigger. This time the AK47 roared to life.

  Half a dozen rounds struck Chris in the back, killing him.

  Brett didn’t see Chris’ demise. He pressed forward in hopes of finding the boys unharmed.

  He hurdled a pile of bodies near the entrance and ran inside the campus. His first stop, the multipurpose room.

  The rattle of gunfire came from behind Brett. It was Lateef executing more innocents. Brett didn’t look back; he kept moving. He turned a corner and there in front of him were two men holding AK-style rifles. It was Malik and Mo.

  Malik was taking random shots at children as they fled.

  Brett jumped behind a large column.

  The scene was horrific. Little bodies lay everywhere.

  Brett peeked around and scanned the bodies.Are any of them Will or Eddie? Are they one of the bodies? Are they dead already? He couldn’t remember what they were wearing today.

  His phone began to ring.

  He ignored it.

  Malik laughed as he took shots at fleeing children.

  Mo, though, only stood and pointed his rifle; he never pulled the trigger. It was his way of defiance.

  Brett saw one of the doors of the multipurpose room was wide open. Seeing an opportunity, he ran for it. Feet away, he slipped in a pool of blood and fell to the ground hard.

  The shooter turned around after hearing Brett fall but was distracted by the sight of three children running. He aimed and gunned them down. When the children fell, he laughed loudly.

  Brett struggled to get up. Each time he got his footing, he’d slip again in the slick blood.

  Cries and whimpers came from inside.

  Why didn’t they lock down the school? Brett thought. Don’t they do training for this sort of thing?

  A third explosion rocked the campus. This time coming from inside the school near the administration offices.

  Brett got to his feet and cleared the remaining distance. He was inside the room. “Will, Eddie!” he called out.

  No reply, only cries and whimpering.

  “Will, Eddie Silver, has anyone seen them?”

  “Daddy!” Will whimpered from the far corner.

  “Will, Will, is that you?” Brett hollered as he ran over to Will. He picked him and hugged him tight.

  Will shook uncontrollably.

  “Where’s your brother?”

  Will pointed to a gaggle of kids huddled under a table.

  Brett ran over. “Eddie, are you here?”

  “I’m here, Dad,” Eddie replied.

  “Get out of there. We’re getting out of here.”

  Eddie stepped out but stopped short of going. “What about my friends, the other kids?”

  Brett looked at the terrified faces. Eddie was right. He couldn’t just save his own. He needed to do something to help the other kids. “Kids, everyone, listen up. I’m Mr. Silver. I’m going to get you out of here.”

  Several of the kids came up and hugged him.

  “That back door, we’re going through there. It leads to the lunch area and past that is the play yard and the fence. We’re going over it and going home. You understand?”

  The thirty-plus kids, all surrounding him, nodded or said, “Yes.”

  “Eddie, lead the way,” Brett ordered. “All of you follow Eddie, now. No time to waste.”

  “Okay, let’s go get your brother,” Brett said and ran to the door with Will cradled in his arms.

  “Where are you going?” Malik yelled.

  Brett turned to see a rifle pointed at him. He turned back to Eddie and said, “GO! NOW!”

  Eddie and the other kids in tow ran for the back door.

  Malik pressed the trigger but nothing happened.

  For the second time, Brett’s luck was keeping him alive. But how long would that last. He needed a weapon, anything at this point.

  Malik dropped the magazine and looked for a fresh one in his vest.

  Mo walked in but stopped just inside the room.

  Brett gave Mo a look.

  Mo waved his hand, signaling for Brett to go.

  “I’m out of ammo, Mo. Give me some,” Malik barked.

  “No,” Mo said.

  “What? Give me some ammo!”

  “No, I won’t,” he said. He turned, pointed the rifle at Malik and pulled the trigger but nothing happened. He looked oddly at his rifle and tried again. Nothing. He dropped the magazine, saw it was fully loaded, reinserted it and pulled the bolt back. A round flew out of the receiver, he let the bolt go, which put another round in the chamber. He again pointed the rifle at Malik and pulled the trigger. Still nothing happened.

  With Mo and Malik involved with each other, Brett saw his chance. He turned and ran for the back door.

  “You idiot, they disabled your rifle. Only now you notice,” Malik mocked. He saw the room was now empty, meaning his objective had disappeared. “Better go find someone else to blow up.”

  “I don’t think so,” Mo said, dropping his rifle. He ran and jumped on Malik.

  “What are you doing?” Malik yelled.

  “Stopping you from murdering anyone else,” Mo said as he struggled to release Malik’s hand from the dead man’s trigger.

  “No, stop, what are you doing?” Malik wailed.

  Mo was bigger and stronger. He pried one finger after another off until only Malik’s thumb remained. Mo bit down on it and began to chew.

  “Stop, no, stop!”

  Mo didn’t feel the blast nor did Malik.

  The intense blast blew them into millions of pieces.

  Brett heard the explosion from the play yard. Ahead of him, Eddie had shown great courage and leadership.

  Eddie and the other older kids were helping the younger ones over the fence.

  Brett was so proud. He would forever remember this moment.

  Searing pain suddenly jolted Brett. He collapsed and rolled
onto his side. He wrapped his right arm around and felt something warm and wet. He brought his hand back and stared. It was covered in blood; he’d been shot.

  Gunshots cracked over his head.

  He looked back and saw Lateef coming towards him, firing.

  The problem was he wasn’t firing at him, he was shooting at the kids.

  Brett rolled over and saw Eddie was down. “No! Eddie, no!”

  Will ran to Eddie’s side and shook his lifeless body. He turned to Brett and cried, “Daddy!” Will ran to Brett.

  “No, Will, run away, run away. Don’t come to me, no!” Brett yelled as he crawled.

  “Daddy!” Will screamed, still running towards Brett.

  “No, Will, run away, run!”

  Brett watched in horror as four bullets ripped through Will’s chest. He dropped to the ground, but was still alive.

  “Will, my baby boy, no!” Brett cried as he tried desperately to reach Will.

  “Dad…dy,” Will gasped and exhaled his last breath.

  “No, oh my God, no!” Brett screamed.

  Lateef emptied his magazine on the remaining children, killing them all. He stepped over top of Brett, who was still crawling towards Will. He kicked Brett onto his back.

  “You got away before, not this time.” Lateef laughed, loading another magazine.

  Brett’s phone rang.

  He imagined it was Madison calling. She probably had gotten the word about the school attack and was now trying to find out anything she could. Problem was, she was too late.

  Brett coughed up blood and stared blankly at Lateef.

  Lateef pointed the rifle at Brett’s head and said, “Die, infidel.” He laughed loudly before pulling the trigger.

  Ramona, California

  Cassidy stared at the television. He couldn’t pull himself away from the sights of chaos and rioting taking place across San Diego County. The freeways were shut down as were many of the side roads. Those wishing to avert the frozen freeways by taking surface streets only clogged those, they couldn’t escape the gridlock.

  The city had come to a standstill.

  He glanced at his watch. It was getting close to nine in the morning. He was packed and ready to go, but his flight wasn’t scheduled to depart until twelve fifteen. He hoped the roads would be clear by then, but the scenes playing out weren’t giving him much hope.